...-', 


POEMS 


BY 


WILLIAM  CULLEN  BEYANT. 

•T 


COLLECTED      AND      ARRANGED 


BY  THE   AUTHOR. 


IN    THREE    VOLUMES. 


VOL.  II. 


^  California- 
NEW    YORK: 

D.   APPLETON  &   CO.,   549   &  551    BROADWAY. 

LONDON:    16  LITTLE  BRITAIN. 

1875. 


V)' 


ENTEBED,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1854,  by  W.  C. 
BETANT,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


ENTERED,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1873,  by  W.  C. 
BKYANT,  in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  "Wash 
ington. 


CONTENTS    OF    VOL.   II. 


POEMS.  pag« 

"  Upon  the  Mountain's  distant  head  "   .  1 

XThe  Evening  Wind '3 

"  When  the  firmament  quivers  with  daylight's 

young  heam  ".....•  6 

"  Innocent  child  and  snow-white  flower  "         .  9* 

To  the  Eiver  Arve       .        .        .        .        .  '  11 

To  Cole,  the  Painter,  departing  for  Europe       . 

_^To  the  fringed  Gentian         .        .  •      .        .  16 

The  Twenty  -second  of  December     .        .        .  18 

X  Hymn  of  the  City         .       ".        •       *.        .  2C 

>  The  Prairies .  23 

;s  Song  of  Marion's  Men           .        .        .        .  31 

The  Arctic  Lover     .        .        .        .        .        .35 

The  Journey  of  Life      .  .     .  J     .  .     ,'        .  38 


IV  CONTENTS. 

TRANSLATIONS  l»ag« 

Version  of  a  Fragment  of  Simonides  .  .  43 

From  the  Spanish  of  Vjllegas  ...  45 
Mary  Magdalen.  (From  the  Spanish  of  Barto- 

lome  Leonardo  de  Argensola)  .  .  .47 
The  Life  of  the  Blessed.  (From  the  Spanish  of 

Luis  Ponce  <ie  Leon)  ....  49 

Fatima  and  Raduan.  (From  the  Spanish)  .  52 

Love  and  Folly.  (From  La  Fontaine)  .  .  57 
The  Siesta.  (From  the  Spanish)  .  .  .60 

The  Alcayde  of  Molina,  (From  the  Spanish) .  02 

The  Death  of  Aliatar.  (From  the  Spanish)  .  66 
Love  in  the  Age  of  Chivalry.  (From  Peyre 

Vidal,  the  Troubadour)  .  ...  .  71 
The  Love  of  God.  (From  the  Provencal  of 

Bernard  Eascas)  .  .  .>.  -.  .  .  73 

From  the  Spanish  of  Pedro  de  Castro  y  A  laya  76 

Sonnet.  (From  the  Portuguese  of  Semedo)  .  78 

Song.  (From  the  Spanish  of  Iglesias)  .  ••'<.  80 
The  Count  of  Greiers.  (From  the  German  of 

Uhland)  •  „  ..  „  „  ...  ';.  82 

The  Serenade.  (From  the  Spanish)  *  .  .  88 
A  Northern  Legend.  (From  the  German  of 

Uhland)     .  .'<     .  .     .  ,     .-.        .  93 


CONTENTS.  V 

TRANSLATIONS.  Pag(S 
The  Paradise  of  Tears.     (From  the  German  of 

1ST.  Mttller)     .      .  .      '  .        .'.'?'•'.•'.  95 
The  Lady  of  Castle  Windeck.     (From  the  Ger 
man  of  Chamisso)       ..       .•      •!;•".      "•„•  98 

LATER  POEMS. 

To  the  Apennines     .      •  .      •;      't        .        .  105 

Earth  .  -  ,  >  .  '  .  '  v  '.  .  -  .  .  .  110 

The  Knight's  Epitaph  /  .  .  .  .  117 

-^The  Hunter  of  the  Prairies  .  .  »  .121 

Seventy -six  .  •  .  • .  "  „  •  .  .  ."  125 

The  Living  Lost  .  .  ^  .  .  '  .  "  128 

Catterskill  Falls  .  '.  .  .  .  .  131 

The  Strange  Lady  '.  .  .  . '  .  ;'..  133 

Life  ;.  .  •'.  4.  '.  "-  ;  .' .  .  144 

"  Earth's  children  cleave  to  earth  "  .  . .  "  148 

The  Hunter's  Vision  '.  '  .'  ."  -  .  .  150 

•*  The  Green  Mountain  -Boys    .        „        .       '.  154 

-^A  Presentiment  .'  ."  v  '  .'  .  .'  155 

The  Child's  Funeral.  .  '  .  '.  '  .  '  .  '"  158 

,XThe  Battlefield  ..  .  .  ."  :  .'  . '  162 

The  Future  Life  .  .  :  .  ,  .  '  ."  166 

The  Death  of  Schiller  .  '.  :  ';"  -  /'  /  169 

The  Fountain  .  ,  .  .  .  .  •  17J 


VI  CONTENTS. 

LATEE  POEMS.  Page 

The  Winds       .        ....        ,  .180 

The  Old  Man's  Counsel        ....  186 

Lines  in  Memory  of  William  Leggett        .  .193 

An  Evening  Be  very 195 

The  Painted  Cup 200 

A  Dream      .'".'.,        .        .        .        .        .  203 
X  The  Antiquity  of  Freedom       ....    207 

The  Maiden's  Sorrow 213 

The  Keturn  of  Youth 216 

A  Hymn  of  the  Sea 220 

Noon.     (From  an  unfinished  Poem)         .  .225 

The  Crowded  Street 229 

_•  The  White-footed  Deer    ...        .      '.  .233 

The  Waning  Moon        .        .                .        .  238 

The  Stream  of  Life  .        .        .        .        .  .241 

The  Unknown  Way 243 

*£"  Oh  Mother  of  a  Mighty  Race  "      .        .  .     247 

VThe  Land  of  Dreams        .        .        .       .  .    251 

The  Burial  of  Love       .      '  .        .        .        .  255 

"  The  May-sun  sheds  an  amber-light"      .  .258 

The  Voice  of  Autumn          .        .        .         ,  260 

>The  Conqueror's  Grave    .        .                .  .    264 

NOTES.         ...  •      .  -      .  •      .        . ;       .  271 


POEMS. 


POEMS. 


"UPON    THE    MOUNTAIN'S  DISTANT 
HEAD." 

UPON  the  mountain's  distant  head, 
With  trackless  snows  for  ever  white, 

Where  all  is  still,  and  cold,  and  dead, 
Late  shines  the  day's  departing  light. 

But  far  below  those  icy  rocks, 

The  vales,  in  summer  bloom  arrayed, 

Woods  full  of  birds,  and  fields  of  flocks, 
Are  dim  with  mist  and  dark  with  shade. 


POEMS. 


'Tis  thus,  from  warm  and  kindly  hearts, 
And  eyes  where  generous  meanings  burn, 

Earliest  the  light  of  life  departs, 
But  lingers  with  the  cold  and  stern. 


THE  EVENING  WIND. 

SPIKIT  that  breathest  through  my  lattice,  thou 
That  cool'st  the  twilight  of  the  sultry  day, 

Gratefully  flows  thy  freshness  round  my  brow  : 
Thou  hast  been  out  upon  the  deep  at  play, 

Hiding  all  day  the  wild  blue  waves  till  now, 
Koughening  their  crests,  and  scattering  high 
their  spray. 

And  swelling  the  white  sail.     I  welcome  thee 

To  the  scorched  land,  thou  wanderer  of  the  seal 

Nor  I  alone — a  thousand  bosoms  round 
Inhale  thee  in  the  fulness  of  delight  ; 


4  POEMS. 

And  languid  forms  rise  up,  and  pulses  bound 
Livelier,  at  coming  of  the  wind  of  night  ; 

And,  languishing  to  hear  thy  grateful  sound, 
Lies  the  vast  inland  stretched  beyond  the 
sight. 

Go  forth  into  the  gathering  shade  ;  go  forth, 

God's  blessing  breathed  upon  the  fainting  earth! 


Go,  rock  the  little  wood-bird  in  his  nest  ; 
Curl  the  still  waters,  bright  with  stars,  and 

rouse 
The  wide  old  wood  from  his  majestic  rest, 

Summoning,  from  the  innumerable  boughs, 
The  strange,  deep  harmonies  that  haunt   his 

breast  : 

Pleasant  shall  be  thy  way  where  meekly  bows 
The  shutting  flower,  and  darkling  waters  pass, 
And  where  the  overshadowing  branches  sweep 
the  grass. 


THE    EVENING    WIND.  5 

The  faint  old  man  shall  lean  his  silver  head 
To  feel  thee  ;  thou  shalt  kiss  the  child  asleep, 

And  dry  the  moistened  curls  that  overspread 
His  temples,  while  his  breathing  grows  more 
deep  : 

And  they  who  stand  about  the  sick  man's  bed, 
Shall  joy  to  listen  to  thy  distant  sweep, 

And  softly  part  his  curtains  to  allow 

Thy  visit,  grateful  to  his  burning  brow. 

Gro — but  the  circle  of  eternal  change, 

Which  is  the  life  of  nature,  shall  restore, 

With  sounds  and  scents   from  all  thy  mighty 

range, 
Thee  to  thy  birthplace  of  the  deep  once  more; 

Sweet  odors  in  the  sea-air,  sweet  and  strange, 
Shall  tell  the  home-sick  mariner  of  the  shore; 

And,  listening  to  thy  murmur,  he  shall  deem 

He  hears  the  rustling  leaf  and  running  stream. 


"WHEN    THE    FIRMAMENT    QUIVERS    WITH 
DAYLIGHT'S  YOUNG  BEAM." 

WHEN  the  firmament  quivers  with  daylight's 

young  beam, 

And  the  woodlands  awaking  burst  into  a  hymn, 
And  the  glow  of  the  sky  blazes  back  from  the 

stream, 

How  the  bright  ones  of  heaven  in  the  bright 
ness  grow  dim. 

Oh  !  'tis  sad,  in  that  moment  of  glory  and  song, 
To  see,  while  the  hill-tops  are  waiting  the  sun, 


"WHEN  THE  FIRMAMENT  QUIVERS."        7 

The  glittering  band  that  kept  watch  all  night 

long, 
O'er  Love  and  o'er  Slumber,  go  out  one  by  one: 


Till  the  circle  of  ether,  deep,  ruddy,  and  vast, 
Scarce  glimmers  with  one  of  the  train  that 

were  there  ; 
And  their  leader  the  day-star,  the  brightest  and 

last, 
Twinkles  faintly  and  fades  in  that  desert  of  air. 


Thus,  Oblivion,  from  midst  of  whose  shadow 

we  came, 

Steals  o'er  us  again  when  life's  twilight  is  gone ; 
And  the  crowd  of  bright  names,  in  the  heaven 

of  fame, 

Grow  pale   and  are  quenched  as  the  years 
hasten  on. 


8  POEMS. 

Let  them  fade — but  we'll  pray  that  the  age,  in 

whose  flight, 
Of  ourselves  and  our  friends  the  remembrance 

shall  die, 
May  rise  o'er  the  world,  with  the  gladness  and 

light 

Of  the  morning  that  withers  the  stars  from 
the  sky. 


« INNOCENT  CHILD  AND   SNOW- 
WHITE  FLOWEK." 

INNOCENT  child  and  snow-white  flower  ! 
Well  are  ye  paired  in  your  opening  hour. 
Thus  should  the  pure  and  the  lovely  meet, 
Stainless  with  stainless,  and  sweet  with  sweet 

White  as  those  leaves,  just  blown  apart, 
Are  the  folds  of  thy  own  young  heart  ; 
Guilty  passion  and  cankering  care 
Never  have  left  their  traces  there. 


10  POEMS. 

Artless  one  !  though  thou  gazest  now 
O'er  the  white  blossom  with  earnest  brow, 
Soon  will  it  tire  thy  childish  eye  ; 
Fair  as  it  is,  thou  wilt  throw  it  by. 

Throw  it  aside  in  thy  weary  hour, 
Throw  to  the  ground  the  fair  white  flower  ; 
Yet,  as  thy  tender  years  depart, 
Keep  that  white  and  innocent  heart. 


TO  THE  BIVEB  ABVE. 

SUPPOSED   TO   BE   WRITTEN   AT   A  HAMLET   NEAB    THE   TOOT 
OF   MONT    BLANC. 

NOT  from  the  sands  or  cloven  rocks, 

Thou  rapid  Arve  !  thy  waters  flow  ; 
Nor  earth,  within  her  bosom,  locks 

Thy  dark  unfathomed  wells  below. 
Thy  springs  are  in  the  cloud,  thy  stream 

Begins  to  move  and  murmur  first 
Where  ice-peaks  feel  the  noonday  beam, 

Or  rain-storms  on  the  glacier  burst. 


12 


POEMS. 


Born  where  the  thunder  and  the  blast 

And  morning's  earliest  light  are  born, 
Thou  rushest  swoln,  and  loud,  and  fast, 

By  these  low  homes,  as  if  in  scorn  : 
Yet  humbler  springs  yield  purer  waves  ; 

And  brighter,  glassier  streams  than  thine, 
Sent  up  from  earth's  unlighted  caves, 

With  heaven's  own  beam  and  image  shine 

Yet  stay  ;  for  here  are  flowers  and  trees  ; 

Warm  rays  on  cottage  roofs  are  here, 
And  laugh  of  girls,  and  hum  of  bees — 

Here  linger  till  thy  waves  are  clear. 
Thou  heedest  not — thou  hastest  on  ; 

From  steep  to  steep  thy  torrent  falls, 
Till,  mingling  with  the  mighty  Khone, 

It  rests  beneath  Geneva's  walls. 

Rush  on — but  were  there  one  with  me 
That  loved  me,  I  would  light  my  hearth 


TO    THE    RIVER    ARVE.  13 

Here,  where  with  God's  own  majesty 
Are  touched  the  features  of  the  earth. 

By  these  old  peaks,  white,  high,  and  vast, 
Still  rising  as  the  tempests  beat, 

Here  would  I  dwell,  and  sleep,  at  last, 
Among  the  blossoms  at  their  feet. 


TO  COLE,  THE  PAINTER,  DEPARTING 
FOE  EUROPE. 

THINE  eyes  shall  see  the  light  of  distant  skies : 
Yet,  COLE  !  thy  heart  shall  bear  to  Europe's 

strand 

A  living  image  of  our  own  bright  land, 
Such  as  upon  thy  glorious  canvas  lies  ; 
Lone  lakes — savannas  where  the  bison  roves — 
Rocks  rich  with  summer  garlands — solemn 

streams — 

Skies,   where  the  desert  eagle  wheels   and 
screams — 


15 


Spring  bloom  and  autumn  blaze  of  boundless 

groves. 
Fair  scenes  shall  greet  thee  where  thou  goest — 

fair, 

But  different — every  where  the  trace  of  men, 
Paths,  homes,  graves,  ruins,  from  the  lowest 

glen 

To  where  life  shrinks  from  the  fierce  Alpine  air, 
Gaze  on  them,  till  the  tears  shall  dim  thy 

sight, 
But  keep  that  earlier,  wilder  image  bright. 


TO  THE  FRINGED  GENTIAN. 

THOU  blossom  bright  with  autumn  dew, 
And  colored  with  the  heaven's  own  blue, 
That  openest  when  the  quiet  light 
Succeeds  the  keen  and  frosty  night. 

Thou  comest  not  when  violets  lean 
O'er  wandering  brooks  and  springs  unseen, 
Or  columbines,  in  purple  dressed, 
Nod  o'er  the  ground-bird's  hidden  nest, 


TO    THE   FRINGED    GENTIAN.  17 

Thou  waitest  late  and  com'st  alone, 
When  woods  are  bare  and  birds  are  flown, 
And  frosts  and  shortening  days  portend 
The  aged  year  is  near  his  end. 

Then  doth  thy  sweet  and  quiet  eye 
Look  through  its  fringes  to  the  sky, 
Blue — blue — as  if  that  sky  let  fall 
A  flower  from  its  cerulean  walL 

I  would  that  thus,  when  I  shall  see       sv 
The  hour  of  death  draw  near  to  me, 
Hope,  blossoming  within  my  heart, 
May  look  to  heaven  as  I  depart. 


THE  TWENTY-SECOND  OF  DECEMBEK 

WILD  was  the  day  ;  the  wintry  sea 

Moaned  sadly  on  New  England's  strand, 

When  first  the  thoughtful  and  the  free, 
Our  fathers,  trod  the  desert  land 


They  little  thought  how  pure  a  light, 

With  years,  should  gather  round  that  day  ; 

How  love  should  keep  their  memories  bright, 
How  wide  a  realm  their  sons  should  sway. 


THE    TWENTY-SECOND    OF    DECEMBER.          19 

Green  are  their  bays  ;  but  greener  still 

Shall  round  their  spreading  fame  be  wreathed, 

And  regions,  now  untrod,  shall  thrill 

With  reverence  when  their  names  are  breathed. 

Till  where  the  sun,  with  softer  fires, 

Looks  on  the  vast  Pacific's  sleep, 
The  children  of  the  pilgrim  sires 

This  hallowed  day  like  us  shall  keep. 


HYMN  OF  THE  CITY. 

NOT  in  the  solitude 
Alone  may  man  commune  with  heaven,  or  see 

Only  in  savage  wood 
And  sunny  vale,  the  present  Deity  ; 

Or  only  hear  his  voice 
Where  the  winds  whisper  and  the  waves  rejoice. 

Even  here  do  I  behold 
Thy  steps,  Almighty ! — here,  amidst  the  crowd, 

Through  the  great  city  rolled, 
With  everlasting  murmur  deep  and  loud — 


HYMN   OF    THt:    CITY.  21 

Choking  the  ways  that  wind 
'Mongst  the  proud  piles,  the  work  of  human 
kind. 

Thy  golden  sunshine  comes 
From  the  round  heaven,  and  on  their  dwellings 

lies, 

And  lights  their  inner  homes  ; 
For  them  thou  fill'st  with  air  the  unbounded 

skies, 

And  givest  them  the  stores 
Of  ocean,  and  the  harvests  of  its  shores. 

Thy  spirit  is  around. 
Quickening  the  restless  mass  that  sweeps  along ; 

And  this  eternal  sound — 
Voices  and  footfalls  of  the  numberless  throng — 

Like  the  resounding  sea, 
Or  like  the  rainy  tempest,  speaks  of  thee. 


22  ^OEMS. 

And  when  the  hours  of  rest 
Come,  like  a  calm  upon  the  mid-sea  brine, 

Hushing  its  billowy  breast — 
The  quiet  of  that  moment  too  is  thine  ; 

It  breathes  of  Him  who  keeps 
The  vast  and  helpless  city  while  it  sleeps. 


THE  PKAIKIES. 

THESE  are  the  gardens  of  the  Desert,  these 
The  unshorn  fields,  boundless  and  beautiful,  * 
For  which  the  speech  of  England  has  no  name — 
The  Prairies.     I  behold  them  for  the  first, 
And  my  heart  swells,  while  the  dilated  sight 
Takes  in  the  encircling  vastness.     Lo  !    they 

stretch 

In  airy  undulations,  far  away, 
As  if  the  ocean,  in  his  gentlest  swell, 
Stood  still,  with  all  his  rounded  billows  fixed, 


24  POEMS. 

And  motionless  for  ever. — Motionless  ? — 
No — they  are  all  unchained  again.     The  clouds 
Sweep  over  with  their  shadows,  and,  beneath, 
The  surface  rolls  and  fluctuates  to  the  eye  ; 
Dark  hollows  seem  to  glide  along  and  chase 
The  sunny  ridges.     Breezes  of  the  South  ! 
Who  toss  the  golden  and  the  flame-like  flowers, 
And  pass  the  prairie-hawk  that,  poised  on  high, 
Flaps  his  broad  wings,  yet  moves  not — ye  have 

played 

Among  the  palms  of  Mexico  and  vines 
Of  Texas,  and  have  crisped  the  limpid  brooks 
That  from  the  fountains  of  Sonora  glide 
Into  the  calm  Pacific — have  ye  fanned 
A  nobler  or  a  lovelier  scene  than  this  ? 
Man  hath  no  part  in  all  this  glorious  work  : 
The  hand  that  built  the  firmament  hath  heaved 
And  smoothed  these  verdant  swells,  and  sown 

their  slopes 
With  herbage,  planted  them  with  island  groves, 


THE    PRAIRIES.  25 

A.nd  hedged  them  round  with  forests.     Fitting 

floor 

For  this  magnificent  temple  of  the  sky — 
With  flowers  whose  glory  and  whose  multitude 
Kival  the  constellations  !     The  great  heavens 
Seem  to  stoop  down  upon  the  scene  in  love, — 
A  nearer  vault,  and  of  a  tenderer  blue, 
Than  that  which  bends  above  our  eastern  hills. 

As  o'er  the  verdant  waste  I  guide  my  steed, 
Among  the  high  rank  grass  that  sweeps  his  sides, 
The  hollow  beating  of  his  footstep  seems 
A  sacrilegious  sound.     I  think  of  those 
Upon  whose  rest  he  tramples.     Are  they  here — 
The  dead  of  other  days  ? — and  did  the  dust 
Of  these  fair  solitudes  once  stir  with  life 
And  burn  with    passion?      Let    the   mighty 

mounds 

That  overlook  the  rivers,  or  that  rise 
In  the  dim  forest  crowded  with  old  oaks, 


26  POEMS. 

Answer.     A  race,  that  long  has  passed  away, 
Built  them  ; — a  disciplined  and  populous  race 
Heaped,  with  long  toil,  the  earth,  while  yet  the 

Greek 

Was  hewing  ^  the  Pentelicus  to  forms 
Of  symmetry,  and  rearing  on  its  rock 
The  glittering  Parthenon.     These  ample  fields 
Nourished  their  harvests,  here  their  herds  were 

fed, 

When  haply  by  their  stalls  the  bison  lowed, 
And  bowed  his  maned  shoulder  to  the  yoke. 
All  day  this  desert  murmured  with  their  toils, 
Till  twilight  blushed,  and  lovers  walked,  and 

wooed 

In  a  forgotten  language,  and  old  tunes, 
From  instruments  of  unremembered  form, 
Gave  the  soft  winds  a  voice.  The  red  man  came — 
The  roaming  hunter  tribes,  warlike  and  fierce, 
And  the  mound-builders  vanished  from  the  earth. 
The  solitude  of  centuries  untold 


THE    PRAIRIES.  27 

Has  settled  where  they  dwelt.  The  prairie-wolf 
Hunts  in  their  meadows,  and  his  fresh-dug  den 
Yawns  by.  my  path.  The  gopher  mines,  the 

ground 

Where  stood  their  swarming  cities.  All  is  gone  ; 
All — save  the  piles  of  earth  that  hold  their 

bones, 
The  platforms  where  they  worshipped  unknown 

gods, 

The  barriers  which  they  builded  from  the  soil 
To  keep  the  foe  at  bay — till  o'er  the  walls 
The  wild  beleaguerers  broke,  and,  one  by  one 
The  strongholds  of  the  plain  were  forced,  and 

heaped 

With  corpses.    The  brown  vultures  of  the  wood 
Flocked  to  those  vast  uncovered  sepulchres, 
And  sat,  un scared  and  silent,  at  their  feast. 
Haply  some  solitary  fugitive, 
Lurking  in  marsh  and  forest,  till  the  sense 
Of  desolation  and  of  fear  became 


28  POEMS. 

Bitterer  than  death,  yielded  himself  to. die. 
Man's  better  nature  triumphed  then.      Kind 

words 

Welcomed  and  soothed  him  ;  the    rude   con 
querors 

Seated  the  captive  with  their  chiefs  ;  he  chose 
A  bride  among  theij  maidens,  and  at  length 
Seemed  to  forget — yet  ne'er  forgot — the  wife 
Of  his  first  love,  and  her  sweet  little  ones, 
Butchered,  amid  their  shrieks,    with    all    his 
race. 

Thus  change  the  forms  of  being.    Thus  arise 
Races  of  living  things,  glorious  in  strength, 
And  perish,  as  the  quickening  breath  of  Grod 
Fills  them,  or  is  withdrawn.  The  red  man,  too, 
Has  left  the  blooming  wilds  he  ranged  so  long, 
And,  nearer  to  the  Kocky  Mountains,  sought 
A  wider  hunting-ground.     The  beaver  builds 
No  longer  by  these  streams,  but  far  away, 


THE    PRAIRIES.  29 

On  waters  whose  blue  surface  ne'er  gave  back 
The  white  man's  face — among  Missouri's  springs, 
And  pools  whose  issues  swell  the  Oregan, 
He  rears  his  little  Venice.     In  these  plains 
The  bison  feeds  no  more.  Twice  twenty  leagues 
Beyond  remotest  smoke  of  hunter's  camp, 
Eoams  the  majestic  brute,  in  herds  that  shake 
The  earth  with  thundering  steps — yet  here  I 

meet 
His  ancient  footprints  stamped  beside  the  pool. 

Still  this  great  solitude  is  quick  with  life. 
Myriads  of  insects,  gaudy  as  the  flowers 
They  flutter  over,  gentle  quadrupeds, 
And  birds,  that  scarce  have  learned  the  fear  of 

man, 

Are  here,  and  sliding  reptiles  of  the  ground, 
Startlingly  beautiful.     The  graceful  deer 
Bounds  to  the  wood  at  my  approach.    The  bee, 
A  more  adventurous  colonist  than  man, 


30  POEMS. 

With  whom  he  came  across  the  eastern  deep. 
Fills  the  savannas  with  his  murmurings, 
And  hides  his  sweets,  as  in  the  golden  age, 
Within  the  hollow  oak.     I  listen  long 
To  his  domestic  hum,  and  think  I  hear 
The  sound  of  that  advancing  multitude 
Which  soon  shall  fill  these  deserts.     From  the 

ground 

Comes  up  the  laugh  of  children,  the  soft  voice 
Of  maidens,  and  the  sweet  and  solemn  hymn 
Of  Sabbath  worshippers.     The  low  of  herds 
Blends  with  the  rustling  of  the  heavy  grain 
Over  the  dark-brown  furrows.     All  at  once 
A  fresher  wind  sweeps  by,  and  breaks  my  dream, 
And  I  am  in  the  wilderness  alone. 


SONG  OF  MAKION'S  MEN, 

OUR  band  is  few,  but  true  and  tried, 

Our  leader  frank  and  bold  ; 
The  British  soldier  trembles 

When  Marion's  name  is  told. 
Our  fortress  is  the  good  greenwood, 

Our  tent  the  cypress-tree  ; 
We  know  the  forest  round  us, 

As  seamen  know  the  sea. 
We  know  its  walls  of  thorny  vines, 


32  POEMS. 

Its  glades  of  reedy  grass, 
Its  safe  and  silent  islands 
Within  tjie  dark  morass. 

Wo  to  the  English  soldiery, 

That  little  dread  us  near  ! 
On  them  shall  light  at  midnight 

A  strange  and  sudden  fear  : 
When,  waking  to  their  tents  on  fira 

They  grasp  their  arms  in  vain, 
And  they  who  stand  to  face  us 

Are  beat  to  earth  again. 
And  they  who  fly  in  terror  deem 

A  mighty  host  behind, 
And  hear  the  tramp  of  thousands 

Upon  the  hollow  wind, 
•m 

Then  sweet  the  hour  that  brings  release 

From  danger  and  from  toil ; 
We  talk  the  battle  over, 


SONG  OF  MARION'S  MEN.  33 

And  share  the  battle's  spoil. 
The  woodland  rings  with  laugh  and  shout, 

As  if  a  hunt  were  up, 
And  woodland  flowers  are  gathered 

To  crown  the  soldier's  cup. 
With  merry  songs  we  mock  the  wind 

That  in  the  pine-top  grieves, 
And  slumber  long  and  sweetly 

On  beds  of  oaken  leaves. 

Well  knows  the  fair  and  friendly  moon 

The  band  that  Marion  leads — 
The  glitter  of  their  rifles, 

The  scampering  of  their  steeds. 
'Tis  life  to  guide  the  fiery  barb 

Across  the  moonlight  plain  ; 
'Tis  life  to  feel  the  night-wind 

That  lifts  his  tossing  mane. 
A  moment  in  the  British  camp — 

A  moment — and  away 


34  POEMS. 

Back  to  the  pathless  forest, 
Before  the  peep  of  day. 

Grave  men  there  are  by  broad  Santee, 

Grave  men  with  hoary  hairs  ; 
Their  hearts  are  all  with  Marion, 

For  Marion  are  their  prayers. 
And  lovely  ladies  greet  our  band   - 

With  kindliest  welcoming, 
With  smiles  like  those  of  summer, 

And  tears  like  those  of  spring. 
For  them  we  wear  these  trusty  arms, 

And  lay  them  down  no  more 
Till  we  have  driven  the  Briton, 

For  ever,  from  our  shore. 


THE  AKCTIC  LOVER. 

GONE  is  the  long,  long  winter  night ; 

Look,  my  beloved  one  ! 
How  glorious,  through  his  depths  of  light, 

Eolls  the  majestic  sun  ! 
The  willows,  waked  from  winter's  death, 
Give  out  a  fragrance  like  thy  breath — 

The  summer  is  begun ! 

Ay,  'tis  the  long  bright  summer  day  : 
Hark,  to  that  mighty  crash  ! 


36  POEMS. 

The  loosened  ice-ridge  breaks  away — 

The  smitten  waters  flash. 
Seaward  the  glittering  mountain  rides, 
While,  down  its  green  translucent  sides, 

The  foamy  torrents  dash. 


See,  love,  my  boat  is  moored  for  thee, 

By  ocean's  weedy  floor — 
The  petrel  does  not  skim  the  sea 

More  swiftly  than  my  oar. 
We'll  go,  where,  on  the  rocky  isles, 
Her  eggs  the  screaming  sea-fowl  piles 

Beside  the  pebbly  shore. 


Or,  bide  thou  where  the  poppy  blows, 
With  wind-flowers  frail  and  fair, 

While  I,  upon  his  isle  of  snows, 
Seek  and  defy  the  bear. 


THE    ARCTIC   LOVER  37 

Fierce  though  he  be,  and  huge  of  frame, 
This  arm  his  savage  strength  shall  tame, 
And  drag  him  from  his  lair. 

When  crimson  sky  and  flamy  cloud 

Bespeak  the  summer  o'er, 
And  the  dead  valleys  wear  a  shroud 

Of  snows  that  melt  no  more, 
I'll  build  of  ice  thy  winter  home, 
With  glistening  walls  and  glassy  dome, 

And  spread  with  skins  the  floor. 

The  white  fox  by  thy  couch  shall  play ; 

And,  from  the  frozen  skies, 
The  meteors  of  a  mimic  day 

Shall  flash  upon  thine  eyes. 
And  I — for  such  thy  vow — meanwhile 
Shall  hear  thy  voice  and  see  thy  smile, 

Till  that  long  midnight  flies. 


THE  JOUKNEY  OF  LIFE 

BENEATH  the  waning  moon  I  walk  at  night, 
And  muse  on  human  life — for  all  around 

Are  dim  uncertain  shapes  that  cheat  the  sight, 
And  pitfalls  lurk  in  shade  along  the  ground, 

And  broken  gleams  of  brightness,  here  and  there, 

Glance  through,  and  leave  unwarmed  the  death 
like  air. 

The  trampled  earth  returns  a  sound  of  fear — 
A  hollow  sound,  as  if  I  walked  on  tombs  ; 


THE   JOURNEY    OF    LIFE.  39 

And  lights,  that  tell  of  cheerful  homes,  appear 

Far  off,  and  die  like  hope  amid  the  glooms. 
A  mournful  wind  across  the  landscape  flies, 
And  the  wide  atmosphere  is  full  of  sighs. 

And  I,  with  faltering  footsteps,  journey  on, 
Watching  the  stars  that  roll  the  hours  away, 

Till  the  faint  light  that  guides  me  now  is  gone, 
And,  like  another  life,  the  glorious  day 

Shall  open  o'er  me  from  the  empyreal  height, 

With  warmth,  and  certainty,  and  boundless  light, 


TRANSLATIONS 


16 


TRANSLATIONS. 


VERSION  OF  A  FRAGMENT  OF  SIMO- 
NIDES. 

THE  night  winds  howled — the  billows  dashed 

Against  the  tossing  chest ; 
As  Danae  to  her  broken  heart 

Her  slumbering  infant  pressed. 

"  My  little  child  " — in  tears  she  said — 

"  To  wake  and  weep  is  mine, 
But  thou  canst  sleep — thou  dost  not  know 

Thy  mother's  lot,  and  thine. 


44  TRANSLATIONS. 

"  The  moon  is  up,  the  moonbeams  smile — 

They  tremble  on  the  main  : 
But  dark,  within  my  floating  cell, 

To  me  they  smile  in  vain. 

"  Thy  folded  mantle  wraps  thee  warm, 

Thy  clustering  locks  are  dry, 
Thou  dost  not  hear  the  shrieking  gust, 

Nor  breakers  booming  high. 

"  As  o'er  thy  sweet  unconscious  face 

A  mournful  watch  I  keep, 
I  think,  didst  thou  but  know  thy  fate, 

How  thou  wouldst  also  weep. 

"  Yet,  dear  one,  sleep,  and  sleep,  ye  winds 
That  vex  the  restless  brine — 

When  shall  these  eyes,  my  babe,  be  sealed 
As  peacefully  as  thine  !  " 


FKOM  THE  SPANISH  OF  VILLEGAS. 

'Tis  sweet,  in  the  green  Spring, 
To  gaze  upon  the  wakening  fields  around  ; 

Birds  in  the  thicket  sing, 
Winds  whisper,  waters  prattle  from  the  ground  ; 

A  thousand  odors  rise, 
Breathed  up  from  blossoms  of  a  thousand  dyes. 

Shadowy,  and  close,  and  cool, 
The  pine  and  poplar  keep  their  quiet  nook  ; 
For  ever  fresh  and  full, 


46  TRANSLATIONS. 

Shines,  at  their  feet,  the  thirst-inviting  brook  ; 

And  the  soft  herbage  seems 
Spread  for  a  place  of  banquets  and  of  dreams. 

Thou,  who  alone  art  fair, 
And  whom  alone  I  love,  art  far  away. 

Unless  thy  smile  be  there, 
It  makes  me  sad  to  see  the  earth  so  gay ; 

I  care  not  if  the  train 
Of  leaves,  and  flowers,  and  zephyrs  go  again. 


MAEY  MAGDALEN. 

FROM    THE    SPANISH    OF    BARTOLOME    LEONARDO 
DE   ARGENSOLA. 

BLESSED,  yet  sinful  one,  and  broken-hearted  ! 
The  crowd  are  pointing  at  the  thing  forlorn, 

In  wonder  and  in  scorn  ! 
Thou  weepest  days  of  innocence  departed  ; 
Thou  weepest.  and  thy  tears  have  power  to 

move 
The  Lord  to  pity  and  love. 

The  greatest  of  thy  follies  is  forgiven, 

Even  for  the  least  of  all  the  tears  that  shine 
On  that  pale  cheek  of  thine. 


48  TRANSLATIONS. 

Thou  didst  kneel  down,  to  Him  who  came  from 

heaven, 

Evil  and  ignorant,  and  thou  shalt  rise 
Holy,  and  pure,  and  wise. 

It  is  not  much  that  to  the  fragrant  blossom 
The  ragged  brier  should  change  ;  the  bitter  fir 

Distil  Arabian  myrrh  ; 
Nor  that,  upon  the  wintry  desert's  bosom, 
The  harvest  should  rise  plenteous,  and  the 

swain 
Bear  home  the  abundant  grain. 

But  come  and  see  the  bleak  and  barren  mountains 
Thick  to  their  tops  with  roses  ;  come  and  see 

Leaves  on  the  dry  dead  tree  j 
The  perished  plant,  set  out  by  living  fountains, 
Grows  fruitful,  and  its  beauteous  branches  rise, 
For  ever,  towards  the  skies. 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  BLESSED. 

FROM   THE    SPANISH    OF   LUIS   PONCE   DE   LEON. 

KEGION  of  life  and  light  ! 

Land  of  the  good  whose  earthly  toils  are  o'er  ! 
Nor  frost  nor  heat  may  blight 
Thy  vernal  beauty,  fertile  shore, 

Yielding  thy  blessed  fruits  for  evermore  ! 

There,  without  crook  or  sling, 
Walks  the  good  shepherd  ;  blossoms  white  and 

red 
Bound  his  meek  temples  cling  ; 


50  TRANSLATIONS. 

And  to  sweet  pastures  led, 
His  own  loved  flock  beneath  his  eye  is  fed. 

He  guides,  and  near  him  they 
Follow  delighted,  for  he  makes  them  go 

Where  dwells  eternal  May, 

And  heavenly  roses  blow, 
Deathless,  and  gathered  but  again  to  grow. 

He  leads  them  to  the  height 
Named  of  the  infinite  and  long-sought  Good, 

And  fountains  of  delight  ; 

And  where  his  feet  have  stood 
Springs  up,  along  the  way,  their  tender  food. 

And  when,  in  the  mid  skies, 
The  climbing  sun  has  reached  his  highest  bound, 

Reposing  as  he  lies, 

With  all  his  flock  around, 
He  witches  the  still  air  with  numerous  sound. 


THE   LIFE    OF    THE    BLESSED.  51 

From  his  sweet  lute  flow  forth 
Immortal  harmonies,  of  power  to  still 

All  passions  born  of  earth, 

And  draw  the  ardent  will 
Its  destiny  of  goodness  to  fulfil. 

Might  but  a  little  part, 
A  wandering  breath  of  that  high  melody, 

Descend  into  my  heart, 

And  change  it  till  it  be 
Transformed  and  swallowed  up,  oh  love  1  in  thee  ; 

Ah  !  then  my  soul  should  know, 
Beloved  !  where  thouliest  at  noon  of  day, 

And  from  this  place  of  woe 

Keleased,  should  take  its  way 
To  mingle  with  thy  flock  and  never  stray. 


FATIMA  AND  BADUAK 


FROM    THE    SPANISH. 


Diamante  falso  y  fingido, 
Engastado  en  pedernal,  &c. 


:i  FALSE  diamond  set  in  flint  I  hard  heart  in 

haughty  breast  ! 
By  a  softer  warmer  bosom  the  tiger's  couch  is 

prest. 


FATIMA   AND   RADUAN.  53 

Thou  art  fickle  as  the  sea,  thou  art  wandering  as 

the  wind, 
And  the  restless  ever-mounting   flame  is   not 

more  hard  to  bind. 
If  the  tears  I  shed  were  tongues,  yet  all  too  few 

would  be 
To  tell  of  all  the  treachery  that  thou  hast  shown 

to  me. 
Oh  !    I  could  chide   thee   sharply — but   every 

maiden  knows 
That  she  who  chides  her  lover,  forgives  him  ere 

he  goes. 


"  Thou  hast  called  me  oft  the  flower  of  all  Gre 
nada's  maids, 

Thou  hast  said  that  by  the  side  of  me  the  first 
and  fairest  fades  ; 

And  they  thought  thy  heart  was  mine,  and  it 
seemed  to  every  one 


54  TRANSLATIONS. 

That  what  thou  didst  to  win  my  love,  for  love 

of  me  was  done. 
Alas !  if  they  but  knew  thee,  as  mine  it  is  to 

know, 
They  well  might  see  another  mark   to  which 

thine  arrows  go  ; 
But  thou  giv'st  me  little  heed — for  I  speak  to 

one  who  knows 
That  she  who  chides  her  lover,  forgives  him  ere 

he  goes. 


"  It  wearies  me,  mine  enemy,  that  I  must  weep 

and  hear 
What  fills  thy  heart  with  triumph,  and  fills  my 

own  with  care. 
Thou  art  leagued  with  those  that  hate  me,  and 

ah  !  thou  know'st  I  feel 
That  cruel  words  as  surely  kill  as  sharpest  hlades 

of  steel. 


FATIMA    AND    RADUAN.  55 

Twas  the  doubt  that  thou  wert  false  that  wrung 

my  heart  with  pain  ; 
But,  now  I  know  thy  perfidy,  I  shall  be  well 

again. 
I  would  proclaim  thee  as  thou  art — but  every 

maiden  knows 
That  she  who  chides  her  lover,  forgives  him  ere 

he  goes." 

Thus  Fatima  complained  to  the  valiant  Kaduan, 

Where  underneath  the  myrtles  Alhambra's  foun 
tains  ran  : 

The  Moor  was  inly  moved,  and  blameless  as  he 
was, 

He  took  her  white  hand  in  his  own,  and  pleaded 
thus  his  cause  : 

"  Oh,  lady,  dry  those  star-like  eyes — their  dim 
ness  does  me  wrong  : 

[f  my  heart  be  made  of  flint,  at  least  'twill  keep 
thy  image  long  ; 


56  TRANSLATIONS. 

Thou  hast  tittered  cruel  words — but  I  grieve 

the  less  for  those, 
Since  she  who  chides  her  lover,  forgives  him  ere 

he  goes." 


LOVE  AND  FOLLY. 

FROM   LA   FONTAINE. 

LOVE'S  worshippers  alone  can  know 

The  thousand  mysteries  that  are  his  ; 
His  hlazing  touch,  his  twanging  bow, 

His  blooming  age  are  mysteries. 
A  charming  science — but  the  day 

Were  all  too  short  to  con  it  o'er  ; 
So  take  of  me  this  little  lay, 

A.  sample  of  its  boundless  lore. 


58  TRANSLATIONS. 

As  once,  beneath  the  fragrant  shade 

Of  myrtles  fresh  in  heaven's  pure  air, 
The  children,  Love  and  Folly,  played— 

A  quarrel  rose  betwixt  the  pair. 
Love  said  the  gods  should  do  him  right — 

But  Folly  vowed  to  do  it  then, 
And  struck  him,  o'er  the  orbs  of  sight, 

So  hard  he  never  saw  again. 

His  lovely  mother's  grief  was  deep, 

She  called  for  vengeance  on  the  deed  ; 
A  beauty  does  not  vainly  weep, 

Nor  coldly  does  a  mother  plead. 
A  shade  came  o'er  the  eternal  bliss 

That  fills  the  dwellers  of  the  skies  ; 
Even  stony-hearted  Nemesis, 

And  Khadamanthus,  wiped  their  eyes. 

"  Behold,"  she  said,  "  this  lovely  boy," 
While  streamed  afresh  her  graceful  tears, 


LOVE    AND    FOLLY.  59 

"  Immortal,  yet  shut  out  from  joy 
And  sunshine,  all  his  future  years. 

The  child  can  never  take,  you  see, 
A  single  step  without  a  staff— 

The  harshest  punishment  would  be 
Too  lenient  for  the  crime  by  half." 

All  said  that  Love  had  suffered  wrong, 

And  well  that  wrong  should  be  repaid  ; 
Then  weighed  the  public  interest  long, 

And  long  the  party's  interest  weighed. 
And  thus  decreed  the  court  above — 

"  Since  Love  is  blind  from  Folly's  blow, 
Let  Folly  be  the  guide  of  Love, 

Where'er  the  boy  may  choose  to  go." 


THE  SIESTA. 

FROM    THE    SPANISH 


Vientecico  murmuradoi 
Que  lo  gozas  y  andas  todo,  &c, 

AIRS,  that  wander  and  murmur  round, 
Bearing  delight  where'er  ye  blow  ! 

Make  in  the  elms  a  lulling  sound, 

While  my  lady  sleeps  in  the  shade  below. 

Lighten  and  lengthen  her  noonday  rest, 
Till  the  heat  of  the  noonday  sun  is  o'er. 


THE   SIESTA.  61 

Sweet  be  her  slumbers  !  though  iu  my  breast 
The  pain  she  has  waked  may  slumber  no  more 

Breathing  soft  from  the  blue  profound, 
Bearing  delight  where'er  ye  blow, 

Make  in  the  elms  a  lulling  sound, 

While  my  lady  sleeps  in  the  shade  below. 

Airs  !  that  over  the  bending  boughs, 

And  under  the  shade  of  pendent  leaves, 
Murmur  soft,  like  my  timid  vows 

Or  the  secret  sighs  my  bosom  heaves. — 
Gently  sweeping  the  grassy  ground, 

Bearing  delight  where'er  ye  blow, 
Make  in  the  elms  a  lulling  sound, 

While  my  lady  sleeps  in  the  shade  below. 


THE  ALOAYDE  OF  MOLINA. 

FROM    THE    SPANISH. 

To  the  town  of  Atienza,  Molina's  brave  Alcayde, 

The  courteous  and  the  valorous,  led  forth  his 
hold  brigade. 

The  Moor  came  back  in  triumph,  he  came  with 
out  a  wound, 

With  many  a  Christian  standard,  and  Christian 
captive  bound. 

He  passed  the  city  portals,  with  swelling  heart 
and  vain, 

And  towards  his  lady's  dwelling  he  rode  with 
slackened  rein  ; 


THE    ALCAYDE    OF    MOLINA.  63 

Two  circuits  on  his  charger  lie  took,  and  at  the 

third, 
From  the  door  of  her  balcony  Zelinda's  voice 

was  heard. 
"  Now  if  thou  wert  not  shameless,"  said  the 

lady  to  the  Moor, 
"  Thou  wouldst  neither  pass  my  dwelling,  nor 

stop  before  my  door. 
Alas   for  poor  Zelinda,   and  for  her  wayward 

mood, 
That  one  in  love  with  peace  should  have  loved 

a  man  of  blood  ! 
Since  not  that  thou  wert  noble  I  chose  thee  for 

my  knight, 
But  that  thy  sword  was  dreaded  in  tournay  and 

in  fight. 
Ah,  thoughtless  and  unhappy  !  that  I  should 

fail  to  see 
How  ill  the  stubborn  flint  and  the  yielding  wax 

asree. 


64  TRANSLATIONS. 

Boast  not  thy  love  for  me,  while  the  shrieking 

of  the  fife 
Can  change  thy  mood  of  mildness  to  fury  and 

to  strife. 
Say  not  my  voice  is  magic — thy  pleasure  is  to 

hear 
The  bursting  of  the  carbine,  and  shivering  of 

the  spear. 

Well,  follow  thou  thy  choice — to  the  battle 
field  away, 
To  thy  triumphs  and  thy  trophies,  since  I  am 

less  than  they. 
Thrust  thy  arm  into  thy  buckler,  gird  on  thy 

crooked  brand, 
And  call  upon  thy  trusty  squire  to  bring  thy 

spears  in  hand. 
Lead  forth  thy  band  to  skirmisL  by  mountain 

and  by  mead, 
On  thy  dappled  Moorish  barb,  or  thy  fleetei 

border  steed. 


THE    ALCAYDE   OF    MOLINA.  65 

Go,  waste  the  Christian  hamlets,  and  sweep 

away  their  flocks, 
From  Almazan's  broad  meadows  to  Siguenza's 

rocks. 
Leave  Zelinda  altogether,  whom  thou  leavest 

oft  and  long, 
And  in  the  life  thou  lovest  forget  whom  thou 

dost  wrong. 
These  eyes  shall  not  recall  thee,  though  they 

meet  no  more  thine  own, 
Though  they  weep  that  thou  art  absent,  and 

that  I  am  all  alone." 
She  ceased,  and  turning  from  him  her  flushed 

and  angry  cheek, 
Shut  the  door  of  her  balcony  before  the  Moor 

could  speak. 

17 


THE  DEATH  OF  ALIATAK. 

FROM   THE    SPANISH. 

'Tis  not  with  gilded  sabres 

That  gleam  in  baldricks  blue, 
!N"or  nodding  plumes  in  caps  of  Fez, 

Of  gay  and  gaudy  hue — 
But,  habited  in  mourning  weeds, 

Come  marching  from  afar, 
By  four  and  four,  the  valiant  men 

Who  fought  with  Aliatar. 


THE    DEATH    OF    ALIATAR.  C7 

All  mournfully  and  slowly 

The  afflicted  warriors  come, 
To  the  deep  wail  of  the  trumpet, 

And  beat  of  muffled  drum. 

The  banner  of  the  Phenix, 

The  flag  that  loved  the  sky, 
That  scarce  the  wind  dared  wanton  with, 

It  flew  so  proud  and  high — 
Now  leaves  its  place  in  battle  field, 

And  sweeps  the  ground  in  grief, 
The  bearer  drags  its  glorious  folds 

Behind  the  fallen  chief, 
As  mournfully  and  slowly 

The  afflicted  warriors  come, 
To  the  deep  wail  of  the  trumpet, 

And  beat  of  muffled  drum. 

Brave  Aliatar  led  forward 
A  hundred  Moors  to  go 


68  TRANSLATIONS. 

To  where  his  brother  held  Motril 

Against  the  leaguering  foe. 
On  horseback  went  the  gallant  Moor, 

That  gallant  band  to  lead  ; 
And  now  his  bier  is  at  the  gate, 

From  which  he  pricked  his  steed. 
While  mournfully  and  slowly 

The  afflicted  warriors  come, 
To  the  deep  wail  of  the  trumpet,   - 

And  beat  of  muffled  drum. 


The  knights  of  the  Grand  Master 

In  crowded  ambush  lay  ; 
They  rushed  upon  him  where  the  reeds 

Were  thick  beside  the  way  ; 
They  smote  the  valiant  Aliatar, 

They  smote  the  warrior  dead, 
And  broken,  but  not  beaten,  were 

The  gallant  ranks  he  led. 


THE    DEATH    OF    ALIATAR.  G9 

Now  mournfully  and  slowly 

The  afflicted  warriors  come, 
To  the  deep  wail  of  the  trumpet, 

And  beat  of  muffled  drum. 

Oh  !  what  was  Zayda's  sorrow, 

How  passionate  her  cries  ! 
Her  lover's  wounds  streamed  not  more  free 

Than  that  poor  maiden's  eyes. 
Say,  Love — for  didst  thou  see  her  tears  : 

Oh,  no  !  he  drew  more  tight 
The  blinding  fillet  o'er  his  lids 

To  spare  his  eyes  the  sight. 
While  mournfully  and  slowly 

The  afflicted  warriors  come, 
To  the  deep  wail  of  the  trumpet, 

And  beat  of  muffled  drum. 

Nor  Zayda  weeps  him  only, 
But  all  that  dwell  between 


70  TRANSLATIONS. 

The  great  Alhambra's  palace  walls 

And  springs  of  Albaicin. 
The  ladies  weep  the  flower  of  knights, 

The  brave  the  bravest  here. 
The  people  weep  a  champion, 

The  Alcaydes  a  noble  peer. 
While  mournfully  and  slowly 

The  afflicted  warriors  come, 
To  the  deep  wail  of  the  trumpet, 

And  beat  of  muffled  drum. 


LOVE  IN  THE  AGE  OF  CHIVALRY. 

FROM   PEYRE    VIDAL,    THE    TROUBADOUR. 

THE  earth  was  sown  with  early  flowers, 

The  heavens  were  blue  and  bright — 
I  met  a  youthful  cavalier 

As  lovely  as  the  light. 
I  knew  him  not — but  in  my  heart 

His  graceful  image  lies. 
And  well  I  marked  his  open  brow, 

His  sweet  and  tender  eyes, 
His  ruddy  lips  that  ever  smiled, 

His  glittering  teeth  betwixt, 


72  TRANSLATIONS. 

And  flowing  robe  embroidered  o'er, 

With  leaves  and  blossoms  mixed, 
He  wore  a  chaplet  of  the  rose  ; 

His  palfrey,  white  and  sleek, 
Was  marked  with  many  an  ebon  spot, 

And  many  a  purple  streak  : 
Of  jasper  was  his  saddle-bow, 

His  housings  sapphire  stone, 
And  brightly  in  his  stirrup  glanced 

The  purple  calcedon. 
Fast  rode  the  gallant  cavalier, 

As  youthful  horsemen  ride ; 
"  Peyre  Vidal !  know  that  I  am  Love," 

The  blooming  stranger  cried  ; 
"  And  this  is  Mercy  by  my  side, 

A  dame  of  high  degree  ; 
This  maid  is  Chastity,"  he  said, 

"  This  squire  is  Loyalty." 


•  THE  LOVE  OF  GOD, 

FROM   THE   PROVENQAL    OF   BERNARD   RASCA8. 

ALL  things  that  are  on  earth   shall  wholly 

pass  away, 
Except  the  love  of  God,  which  shall  live  and  last 

for  aye. 
The  forms  of  men  shall  be  as  they  had  nevei 

"been ; 
The  blasted  groves  shall  lose  their  fresh  ana 

tender  green  ; 


TRANSLATIONS. 


The  birds  of  the  thicket  shall  end  their  pleasant 

song, 
And  the  nightingale  shall  cease  to  chant  the 

evening  long. 
The  kine  of  the  pasture  shall  feel  the  dart  that 

kills, 
And  all  the  fair  white  flocks  shall  perish  from 

the  hills. 
The  goat  and  antlered  stag,  the  wolf  and  the 

fox, 
The  wild  boar  of  the  wood,  and  the  chamois  of 

the  rocks, 
And  the  strong  and  fearless  bear,  in  the  trodden 

dust  shall  lie  ; 
And  the  dolphin  of  the  sea,  and  the  mighty 

whale,  shall  die. 
And  realms  shall  be  dissolved,  and  empires  be 

no  more, 
And  they  shall  bow  to  death,  who  ruled  from 

shore  to  shore  ; 


THE    LOVE    OF    GOD.  75 

And  the  great  globe  itself,  (so  the  holy  writings 

tell,) 
With  the  rolling  firmament,  where  the  starry 

armies  dwell, 
Shall  melt   with  fervent  heat — they  shall  all 

pass  away, 
Except  the  love  of  God,  which  shall  live  and 

last  for  aye, 


FKOM   THE   SPANISH  OF  PEDKQ  DE 
CASTKO  Y  ANAYA. 


,  rivulet,  nor  haste  to  leave 
The  lovely  vale  that  lies  around  thee. 
Why  wouldst  thou  be  a  sea  at  eve, 

When  but  a  fount  the  morning  found  thee  ? 

Born  when  the  skies  began  to  glow, 

Humblest  of  all  the  rock's  cold  daughters, 

No  blossom  bowed  its  stalk  to  show 

Where  stole  thy  still  and  scanty  waters. 


FROM   THE    SPANISH.  77 

Now  on  thy  stream  the  noonbeams  look, 
Usurping,  as  thou  downward  driftest, 

Its  crystal  from  the  clearest  brook, 
Its  rushing  current  from  the  swiftest. 

Ah  !  what  wild  haste  ! — and  all  to  be 

A  river  and  expire  in  ocean. 
Each  fountain's  tribute  hurries  thee 

To  that  vast  grave  with  quicker  motion. 

Far  better  'twere  to  linger  still 

In  this  green  vale,  these  flowers  to  cherish, 
And  die  in  peace,  an  aged  rill, 

Than  thus,  a  youthful  Danube,  perish. 


SONNET. 

FROM  THE  POETUGUESE  OF  SEMEDO 

IT  is  a  fearful  night ;  a  feeble  glare 

Streams  from  the  sick  moon  in  the  o'ercloud- 
ed  sky  ; 

The  ridgy  billows,  with  a  mighty  cry, 
Bush  on  the  foamy  beaches  wild  and  bare  ; 
No  bark  the  madness  of  the  waves  will  dare  ; 

The  sailors  sleep  ;  the  winds  are  loud  and  high  ; 

Ah,  peerless  Laura  !  for  whose  love  I  die,' 
Who  gazes  on  thy  smiles  while  I  despair  ? 


SONNET.  79 

As  thus,  in  bitterness  of  heart,  I  cried, 

I  turned,  and  saw  my  Laura,  kind  and  bright. 

A  messenger  of  gladness,  at  my  side  : 
To  my  poor  bark  she  sprang  with  footstep  light, 

And  as  we  furrowed  Tago's  heaving  tide, 
I  never  saw  so  beautiful  a  night. 


SONG, 

FROM  THE   SPANISH   OF  IGLESIAS, 

ALEXIS  calls  me  cruel ; 

The  rifted  crags  that  hold 
The  gathered  ice  of  winter, 

He  says,  are  not  more  cold. 

When  even  the  very  blossoms 
Around  the  fountain's  brim, 

And  forest  walks,  can  witness 
The  love  I  bear  to  him. 


SONG.  81 

I  would  that  I  could  utter 
My  feelings  without  shame ; 

And  tell  him  how  I  love  him, 
Nor  wrong  my  virgin  fame. 

Alas  !  to  seize  the  moment 
When  heart  inclines  to  heart, 

And  press  a  suit  with  passion, 
Is  not  a  woman's  part. 

If  man  come  not  to  gather 
The  roses  where  they  stand, 

They  fade  among  their  foliage  ; 
They  cannot  seek  his  hand. 


THE  COUNT  OF  GBEIERS 

FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  UHLAND. 

AT  morn  the  Count  of  Greiers  before  his  castle 

stands  ; 
He  sees  afar  the  glory  that  lights  the  mountain 

lands  ; 
The  horned  crags  are  shining,  and  in  the  shade 

between 
A  pleasant  Alpine  valley  lies  beautifully  green. 


THE    COUNT    OF    GREIERS. 

"  Oh,  greenest  of  the  valleys,  how  shall  I  come 

to  thee  ! 
Thy  herdsmen  and  thy  maidens,  how  happy 

must  they  be  ! 
I  have   gazed  upon  thee  coldly,  all  lovely  as 

thou  art, 
But  the  wish  to  walk  thy  pastures  now  stirs 

my  inmost  heart." 


He  hears  a  sound  of  timbrels,  and  suddenly 
appear, 

A  troop  of  ruddy  damsels  and  herdsmen  draw 
ing  near  ; 

They  reach  the  castle  greensward,  and  gaily 
dance  across  , 

The  white  sleeves  flit  and  glimmer,  the  wreaths 
and  ribands  toss. 


84  TRANSLATIONS. 

The  youngest  of  the  maidens,  slim  as  a  spray 
of  spring, 

She  takes  the  young  count's  fingers,  and  draws 
him  to  the  ring, 

They  fling  upon  his  forehead  a  crown  of  moun 
tain  flowers, 

"  And  ho,  young  Count  of  Greiers  !  this  morning 
thou  art  ours." 


Then  hand  in  hand  departing,  with  dance  and 

roundelay, 
Through  hamlet  after  hamlet,  they  lead  the 

Count  away. 
They  dance  through  wood  and  meadow,  they 

dance  across  the  linn, 
Till  the  mighty  Alpine  summits  have  shut  the 

music  in. 


THE    COUNT    OF    GREIERS.  85 

The  second  morn  is  risen,  and  now  the  third  is 
come ; 

Where  stays  the  Count  of  Greiers  ?  has  he  for 
got  his  home  ? 

Again,  the  evening  closes,  in  thick  and  sultry 
air  ; 

There's  thunder  on  the  mountains,  the  storm  is 
gathering  there. 


The  cloud  has  shed  its  waters,  the  brook  comes 

swollen  down  ; 
You  see  it  by  the  lightning — a  river  wide  and 

brown. 
Around  a  struggling  swimmer  the  eddies  dash 

and  roar, 
Till,    seizing  on  a  willow,  he  leaps   upon  the 

shore. 


83  TRANSLATIONS. 

"  Here  am  I  cast  by  tempests  far  from  youi 

mountain  dell. 
Amid  our  evening  dances  the  bursting  deluge 

fell. 
Ye  all,  in  cots  and  caverns,  have  'scaped  the 

water-spout, 
While  me  alone  the  tempest  overwhelmed  and 

hurried  out. 


'•  Farewell,  with  thy  glad  dwellers,  green  vale 
among  the  rocks  ! 

Farewell  the  swift  sweet  moments,  in  which  I 
watched  thy  flocks  ! 

Why  rocked  they  not  my  cradle  in  that  delicious 
spot, 

That  garden  of  the  happy,  where  Heaven  en 
dures  me  not  ? 


THE    COUNT    OF    GREIERS.  87 

"  Rose  of  the  Alpine  valley  !  I  feel,  in  every 
vein, 

The  soft  touch  on  my  fingers  ;  oh,  press  them 
not  again  ! 

Bewitch  me  not,  ye  garlands,  to  tread  that  up 
ward  track, 

And  thou,  my  cheerless  mansion,  receive  thy 
master  back" 


THE     SEKENADE. 

FROM   THE  SPANISH. 

IF  slumber,  sweet  Lisena  ! 

Have  stolen  o'er  thine  eyes, 
As  night  steals  o'er  the  glory 

Of  spring's  transparent  skies  ; 

Wake,  in  thy  scorn  and  beauty, 
And  listen  to  the  strain 

That  murmurs  my  devotion, 
That  mourns  for  thy  disdain. 


THE    SERENADE.  89 

Here  by  thy  door  at  midnight, 

I  pass  the  dreary  hour, 
With  plaintive  sounds  profaning 

The  silence  of  thy  bower  ; 

A  tale  of  sorrow  cherished 

Too  fondly  to  depart, 
Of  wrong  from  love  the  flatterer, 

And  my  own  wayward  heart. 

Twice,  o'er  this  vale,  the  seasons 
Have  brought  and  borne  away 

The  January  tempest, 
The  genial  wind  of  May  ; 

Yet  still  my  plaint  is  uttered, 
My  tears  and  sighs  are  given 

To  earth's  unconscious  waters, 
And  wandering  winds  of  heaven. 

18 


90  TRANSLATIONS. 

I  saw,  from  this  fair  region, 
The  smile  of  summer  pass, 

And  myriad  frost-stars  glitter 
Among  the  russet  grass. 

While  winter  seized  the  streamlets 
That  fled  along  the  ground, 

And  fast  in  chains  of  crystal 
The  truant  murmurers  bound. 

I  saw  that  to  the  forest 

The  nightingales  had  flown, 

And  every  sweet-voiced  fountain 
Had  hushed  its  silver  tone. 

The  maniac  winds,  divorcing 
The  turtle  from  his  mate, 

Raved  through  the  leafy  beeches, 
And  left  them  desolate. 


THE    SERENADE.  91 

Now  May,  with  life  and  music, 

The  blooming  valley  fills, 
And  rears  her  flowery  arches 

For  all  the  little  rills. 

The  minstrel  bird  of  evening 
Comes  back  on  joyous  wings, 

And,  like  the  harp's  soft  murmur, 
Is  heard  the  gush  of  springs. 

And  deep  within  the  forest 

Are  wedded  turtles  seen, 
Their  nuptial  chambers  seeking, 

Their  chambers  close  and  green. 

The  rugged  trees  are  mingling 
Their  flowery  sprays  in  love  ! 

.The  ivy  climbs  the  laurel, 
To  clasp  the  boughs  above. 


92  TRANSLATIONS. 

They  change — but  them,  Lisena 
Art  cold  while  I  complain  : 

Why  to  thy  lover  only 

Should  spring  return  in  vain? 


A  NORTHERN  LEGEND. 

FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  UHLAND. 

THERE  sits  a  lovely  maiden, 
The  ocean  murmuring  nigh  , 

She  throws  the  hook,  and  watches  ; 
The  fishes  pass  it  by. 


A  ring,  with  a  red  jewel, 
Is  sparkling  on  her  hand  ; 

Upon  the  hook  she  binds  it, 
And  flings  it  from  the  land. 


94  TRANSLATIONS. 

Uprises  from  the  water 
A  hand  like  ivory  fair. 

What  gleams  upon  its  finger? 
The  golden  ring  is  there. 

Uprises  from  the  bottom 

A  young  and  handsome  knight  ; 

In  golden  scales  he  rises, 
That  glitter  in  the  light. 

The  maid  is  pale  with  terror — 
"  Nay,  Knight  of  Ocean,  nay, 

It  was  not  thou  I  wanted  ; 
Let  go  the  ring,  I  pray." 

"  Ah,  maiden,  not  to  fishes 
The  bait  of  gold  is  thrown  ; 

The  ring  shall  never  leave  me, 
And  thou  must  be  my  own." 


THE  PARADISE  OF  TEARS. 

FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  N.  MUELLER. 

BESIDE  the  River  of  Tears,  with  branches  low, 
And  bitter  leaves,  the  weeping  willows  grow  ; 
The  branches  stream  like  the  dishevelled  hair 
Of  women  in  the  sadness  of  despair. 

On  rolls  the  stream  with  a  perpetual  sigh ; 
The  rocks  moan  wildly  as  it  passes  by  ; 
Hyssop  and  wormwood  border  all  the  strand, 
And  not  a  flower  adorns  the  dreary  land. 


96  TRANSLATIONS. 

Then   comes  a  child,  whose  face   is   like   the 

sun, 

And  dips  the  gloomy  waters  as  they  run, 
And  waters  all  the  region,  and  behold 
The  ground  is  bright  with  blossoms  manifold. 

Where  fall  the  tears  of  love  the  rose  appears, 
And  where  the  ground  is  bright  with  friendship's 

tears, 

Forget-me-not,  and  violets,  heavenly  blue, 
Spring,  glittering  with  the  cheerful  drops  like 

dew. 

The  souls  'of  mourners,   all  whose   tears   are 

dried, 
Like   swans,    come   gently  floating   down   the 

tide, 

Walk  up  the  golden  sands  by  which  it  flows, 
And  in  that  Paradise  of  Tears  repose. 


THE    PARADISE    OF    TEARS.  97 

There  every  heart  rejoins  its  kindred  heart  : 
There,  in  a  long  embrace  that  none  may  part, 
Fulfilment  meets  desire,  and  that  fair  shore 
Beholds  its  dwellers  happy  evermore. 


THE  LADY  OF  CASTLE  WINDECK. 

FROM   THE   GERMAN   OF    CHAMISSO. 

KEIN  in  thy  snorting  charger  ! 

That  stag  but  cheats  jfchy  sight ; 
He  is  luring  thee  on  to  Windeck, 

With  his  seeming  fear  and  flight. 

Now,  where  the  mouldering  turrets 

Of  the  outer  gate  arise, 
The  knight  gazed  over  the  ruins 

Where  the  stag  was  lost  to  his  eyes. 


THE    LADY    OF    CASTLE    WINDECK.  99 

The  sun  shone  hot  above  him  ; 

The  castle  was  still  as  death  ; 
He  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  forehead, 

With  a  deep  and  weary  breath. 

"  Who  now  will  bring  me  a  beaker, 
Of  the  rich  old  wine  that  here, 

In  the  choked  up  vaults  of  Windeck, 
Has  lain  for  many  a  year  ?  " 

The  careless  words  had  scarcely 

Time  from  his  lips  to  fall, 
When  the  Lady  of  Castle  Windeck, 

Came  round  the  ivy-wall. 

He  saw  the  glorious  maiden 

In  her  snow-white  drapery  stand, 

The  bunch  of  keys  at  her  girdle, 
The  beaker  high  in  her  hand. 


100  TRANSLATIONS. 

He  quaffed  that  rich  old  vintage  ; 

With  an  eager  lip  he  quaffed  ; 
But  he  took  into  his  bosom 

A  fire  with  the  grateful  draught. 

Her  eyes  unfathomed  brightness  ! 

The  flowing  gold  of  her  hair  ! 
He  folded  his  hands  in  homage 

And  murmured  a  lover's  prayer. 

She  gave  him  a  look  of  pity, 
A  gentle  look  of  pain  ; 

And  quickly  as  he  had  seen  her 
She  passed  from  his  sight  again. 

And  ever  from  that  moment, 
He  haunted  the  ruins  there, 

A  sleepless,  restless  wanderer, 
A  watcher  with  despair. 


THE  LADY  OF  CASTLE  WINDECK.    101 

Ghost-like  and  pale  he  wandered, 
With  a  dreamy,  haggard  eye  ; 

He  seemed  not  one  of  the  living, 
And  yet  he  could  not  die. 

'T  is  said  that  the  lady  met  him, 
When  many  years  had  passed, 

And  kissing  his  lips,  released  him, 
From  the  burden  of  life  at  last-, 


LATER   POEMS. 


LATER    POEMS. 


TO  THE   APENNINES. 

YOUR  peaks  are  beautiful,  ye  Apennines  ! 

In  the  soft  light  of  these  serenest  skies  ; 
From  the  broad  highland  region,  black  with 
pines, 

Fair  as  the  hills  of  Paradise  they  rise, 
Bathed  in  the  tint  Peruvian  slaves  behold 
In  rosy  flushes  on  the  virgin  gold. 


106  LATER    POEMS. 

There,  rooted  to  the  aerial  shelves  that  wear 

The  glory  of  a  brighter  world,  might  spring 
Sweet  flowers  of  heaven  to  scent  the  unbreathed 

air, 
And  heaven's  fleet  messengers  might  rest  the 

wing 

To  view  the  fair  earth  in  its  summer  sleep, 
Silent,  and  cradled  by  the  glimmering  deep. 

Below  you  lie  men's  sepulchres,  the  old 

Etrurian  tombs,  the  graves  of  yesterday  ; 
The  herd's  white  bones  lie  mixed  with  human 

mould, 

Yet  up  the  radiant  steeps  that  I  survey 
Death  never  climbed,  nor  life's  soft  breath,  with 

pain, 
Was  yielded  to  the  elements  again. 

A.ges  of  war  have  filled  these  plains  with  fear  ; 
How  oft  the  hind  has  started  at  the  clash 


TO   THE    APENNINES.  107 

Of  spears,  and  yell  of  meeting  armies  here, 
Or  seen  the  lightning  of  the  battle  flash 
From   clouds,  that  rising  with  the  thunder's 

sound, 
Hung  like  an  earth-born  tempest  o'er  the  ground. 

Ah  me  !  what  armed  nations — Asian  horde, 
And   Libyan    host — the    Scythian   and   the 

Gaul, 
Have  swept  your  base  and  through  your  passes 

poured, 

Like  ocean-tides  uprising  at  the  call 
Of  tyrant  winds — against  your  rocky  side 
The  bloody  billows  dashed,  and  howled,  and 
died. 

How  crashed  the  towers  before  beleaguering  foes, 
Sacked  cities  smoked  and  realms  weie  rent 
in  twain ; 


108  LATER  POEMS. 

A.nd  commonwealths  against  their  rivals  rose, 
Trode  out  their  lives  and  earned  the  curse  of 

Cain! 

While  in  the  noiseless  air  and  light  that  flowed 
Hound  your  fair  brows,  eternal  Peace  abode. 

Here  pealed  the  impious  hymn,  and  altar  flames 
Eose  to  false  gods,  a  dream-begotten  throng, 

Jove,  Bacchus,  Pan,  and  earlier,  fouler  names  ; 
While,  as  the  unheeding  ages  passed  along, 

Ye,  from  your  station  in  the  middle  skies, 

Proclaimed  the  essential  Goodness,  strong  and 
wise. 


In  you  the  heart  that  sighs  for  freedom  seeks 
Her  image ;    there    the    winds   no   barrier 

know, 

Clouds   come   and   rest   and   leave  your  fairy 
peaks ; 


TO    THE    APENNINES.  109 

While  even  the  immaterial  Mind,  below, 
And  Thought,  her  winged  offspring,  chained  by 

power, 
Pine  silently  for  the  redeeming  hour. 


EABTH. 

A  MIDNIGHT  black  with  clouds  is  in  the  sky  ; 
I  seem  to  feel,  upon  my  limbs,  the  weight 
Of  its  vast  brooding  shadow.     All  in  vain 
Turns  the  tired  eye  in  search  of  form  ;  no  star 
Pierces  the  pitchy  veil ;  no  ruddy  blaze, 
From  dwellings  lighted  by  the  cheerful  hearth, 
Tinges  the  flowering  summits  of  the  grass. 
No  sound  of  life  is  heard,  no  village  hum, 
Nor  measured  tramp  of  footstep  in  the  path, 
Nor  rush  of  wing,  while,  on  the  breast  of  Earth, 


EARTH.  Ill 

I  lie  and  listen  to  her  mighty  voice  : 

A  voice  of  many  tones — sent  up  from  streams 

That  wander  through  the  gloom,  from  woods 

unseen, 

Swayed  by  the  sweeping  of  the  tides  of  air, 
From  rocky  chasms  where  darkness  dwells  all 

day, 

And  hollows  of  the  great  invisible  hills, 
And  sands  that  edge  the  ocean,  stretching  far 
Into  the  night — a  melancholy  sound  ! 

0  Earth  !  dost  thou  too  sorrow  for  i  he  past 
Like  man  thy  offspring  ?    Do  I  hear  thee  mourn 
Thy  childhood's  unreturning  hours,  thy  springs 
Gone  with  their  genial  airs  and  melodies, 
The  gentle  generations  of  thy  flowers, 
And  thy  majestic  groves  of  olden  time, 
Perished  with  all  their  dwellers?     Dost   thou 

wail 
For  that  fair  age  of  which  the  poets  tell, 


112  LATER   POEMS. 

Ere  yet  the  winds  grew  keen  with  frost,  or  fire 
Fell  with  the  rains,  or  spouted  from  the  hills, 
To  blast  thy  greenness,  while  the  virgin  night 
Was  guiltless  and  salubrious  as  the  day  I 
Or  haply  dost  thou  grieve  for  those  who  die — 
For  living  things  that  trod  thy  paths  awhile, 
The  love  of  thee  and  heaven — and  now  they 

sleep 
Mixed  with  the  shapelses  dust  on  which  thy 

herds 
Trample  and  graze  ?     I  too  must  grieve  with 

thee, 

O'er  loved  ones  lost.     Their  graves  are  far  away 
Upon  thy  mountains  ;  yet,  while  I  recline 
Alone,  in  darkness,  on  thy  naked  soil, 
The  mighty  nourisher  and  burial-place 
Of  man,  I  feel  that  I  embrace  their  dust. 

Ha  !  how  the  murmur  deepens  !     I  perceive 
And  tremble  at  its  dreadful  import.     Earth 


EARTH.  113 

Uplifts  a  general  cry  for  guilt  and  wrong, 
And  heaven  is  listening.     The  forgotten  graves 
Of  the  heart-broken  utter  forth  their  plaint. 
The  dust  of  her  who  loved  and  was  betrayed, 
And  him  who  died  neglected  in  his  age  ; 
The  sepulchres  of  those  who  for  mankind 
Labored,  and  earned  the  recompense  of  scorn  ; 
Ashes  of  martyrs  for  the  truth,  and  bones 
Of  those  who,  in  the  strife  for  liberty, 
Were  beaten  down,  their  corses  given  to  dogs, 
Their  names  to  infamy,  all  find  a  voice. 
The  nook  in  which  the  captive,  overtoiled, 
Lay  down  to  rest  at  last,  and  that  which  holds 
Childhood's    sweet   blossoms,  crushed  by  cruel 

hands, 

Send  up  a  plaintive  sound.    From  battle-fields, 
Where  heroes  madly  drave  and  dashed  their 

hosts 
Against  each  other,  rises  up  a  noise, 

As  if  the  armed  multitudes  of  dead 
19 


114  LATER    POEMS. 

Stirred  in  their  heavy  slumber.    Mournful  tones 
Come  from  the  green  abysses  of  the  sea — 
A  story  of  the  crimes  the  guilty  sought 
To   hide   beneath   its  waves.     The  glens,  the 

groves, 

Paths  in  the  thicket,  pools  of  running  brook, 
And  banks  and  depths  of  lake,  and  streets  and 

lanes 

Of  cities,  now  that  living  sounds  are  hushed, 
Murmur  of  guilty  force  and  treachery. 

Here,  where  I  rest,  the  vales  of  Italy 
Are  round  me,  populous  from  early  time, 
And  field  of  the  tremendous  warfare  waged 
'Twixt  good  and  evil.     Who,  alas,  shall  dare 
Interpret  to  man's  ear  the  mingled  voice 
That  comes  from  her  old  dungeons  yawning  now 
To  the  black  air,  her  amphitheatres, 
Where  the  dew  gat  hers  on  the  mouldering  stoney. 
And  fanes  of  banished  gods,  and  open  tombs, 


EAKTH.  115 

And  roofless  palaces,  and  streets  and  hearths 
Of  cities  dug  from  their  volcanic  graves  ? 
I  hear  a  sound  of  many  languages, 
The  utterance  of  nations  now  no  more, 
Driven  out  by  mightier,  as  the  days  of  heaven 
Chase  one  another  from  the  sky.     The  blood 
Of  freemen  shed  by  freemen,  till  strange  lords 
Came  in  their  hour  of  weakness,  and  made  fast 
The  yoke  that  yet  is  worn,  cries  out  to  Heaven. 

What  then  shall  cleanse  thy  bosom,  gentle 

Earth, 

From  all  its  painful  memories  of  guilt  ? 
The  whelming  flood,  or  the  renewing  fire, 
Or  the  slow  change  of  time?  that  so,  at  last 
The  horrid  tale  of  perjury  and  strife, 
Murder  and  spoil,  which  men  call  history, 
May  seem  a  fable,  like  the  inventions  told 
By  poets  of  the  gods  of  Greece.     0  thou, 
Who  sittest  far  beyond  the  Atlantic  deep 


LATER    POEMS. 


Among  the  sources  of  thy  glorious  streams, 
My  native  Land  of  Groves  !    a  newer  page 
In  the  great  record  of  the  world  is  thine  ; 
Shall  it  be  fairer?     Fear,  and  friendly  hope, 
And  envy,  watch  the  issue,  while  the  lines, 
By  which  thou  shalt  be  judged,  are  written  down 


THE  KNIGHT'S  EPITAPH. 

THIS  is  the  church  which  Pisa,  great  and  free, 
Reared  to  St.  Catharine.     How  the  time-stain 
ed  walls, 
That  earthquakes  shook  not  from  their  poise, 

appear 

To  shiver  in  the  deep  and  voluble  tones 
Rolled  from  the  organ  !     Underneath  my  feet 
There  lies  the  lid  of  a  sepulchral  vault. 
The  image  of  an  armed  knight  is  graven 
Upon  it,  clad  in  perfect  panoply — 


118  LATER  POEMS. 

Cuishes,  and  greaves,  and  cuirass,  with  barred 

helm, 

Gauntleted  hand,  and  sword,  and  blazoned  shield. 
Around,  in  Gothic  characters,  worn  dim 
By  feet  of  worshippers,  are  traced  his  name, 
And  birth,  and  death,  and  words  of  eulogy. 
Why  should  I  pore  upon  them  ?  This  old  tomb, 
This  effigy,  the  strange  disused  form 
Of  this  inscription,  eloquently  show 
His  history.     Let  me  clothe  in  fitting  words 
The  thoughts  they  breathe,  and  frame  his  epi 
taph. 

"  He  whose  forgotten  dust  for  centuries 
Has  lain  beneath  this  stone,  was  one  in  whom 
Adventure,  and  endurance,  and  emprise 
Exalted  the  mind's  faculties  and  strung 
The  body's  sinews.     Brave  he  was  in  fight, 
Courteous  in  banquet,  scornful  of  repose, 
And  bountiful,  and  cruel,  and  devout, 


THE  KNIGHT'S  EPITAPH  119 

And  quick  to  draw  the  sword  in  private  feud. 

He  pushed  his  quarrels  to  the  death,  yet  prayed 

The  saints  as  fervently  on  bended  knees 

As  ever  shaven  cenohite.     He  loved 

As  fiercely  as  he  fought.     He  would  have  borne 

The  maid  that  pleased  him  from  her  bower  by 

night 

To  his  hill-castle,  as  the  eagle  bears 
His  victim  from  the  fold,  and  rolled  the  rocks 
On  his  pursuers.     He  aspired  to  see 
His  native  Pisa  queen  and  arbitress 
Of  cities :  earnestly  for  her  he  raised 
His  voice  in  council,  and  affronted  death 
In  battle-field,  and  climbed  the  galley's  deck, 
And  brought  the  captured  flag  of  Genoa  back, 
Or  piled  upon  the  Arno's  crowded  quay 
The  glittering  spoils  of  the  tamed  Saracen. 
He  was  not  born  to  brook  the  stranger's  yoke, 
But  would  have  joined  the  exiles  that  withdrew 
For  ever,  when  the  Florentine  broke  in 


120  LATER    POEMS. 

The  gates  of  Pisa,  and  bore  off  the  bolts 
For  trophies — but  he  died  before  that  day. 
'''  He  lived,  the  impersonation  of  an  age 
That  never  shall  return.     His  soul  of  fire 
Was  kindled  by  the  breath  of  the  rude  time 
He  lived  in.     Now  a  gentler  race  succeeds, 
Shuddering  at  blood  ;  the  effeminate  cavalier, 
Turning  his  eyes  from  the  reproachful  past, 
And  from  the  hopeless  future,  gives  to  ease, 
And  love,  and  music,  his  inglorious  life." 


THE  HUNTER  OF  THE  PRAIRIES. 

AY,  this  is  freedom  ! — -these  pure  sides 

Were  never  stained  with  village  smoke  : 
The  fragrant  wind,  that  through  them  flies, 

Is  breathed  from  wastes  by  plough  unbroke. 
Here,  with  my  rifle  and  my  steed, 

And  her  who  left  the  world  for  me, 
I  plant  me,  where  the  red  deer  feed 

In  the  green  desert — and  am  free. 

For  here  the  fair  savannas  know 
No  barriers  in  the  bloomy  grass  ; 


122  LATER    POEMS. 

Wherever  breeze  of  heaven  may  blow, 
Or  beam  of  heaven  may  glance,  I  pass. 

In  pastures,  measureless  as  air, 
The  bison  is  my  noble  game  ; 

The  bounding  elk,  whose  antlers  tear 
The  branches,  falls  before  my  aim. 

Mine  are  the  river-fowl  that  scream 

From  the  long  stripe  of  waving  sedge  j 
The  bear  that  marks  my  weapon's  gleam, 

Hides  vainly  in  the  forest's  edge  ; 
In  vain  the  she-wolf  stands  at  bay  ; 

The  brinded  catamount,  that  lies 
High  in  the  boughs  to  watch  his  prey, 

Even  in  the  act  of  springing,  dies. 

With  what  free  growth  the  elm  and  plane 
Fling  their  huge  arms  across  my  way, 

Gray,  old,  and  cumbered  with  a  train 
Of  vines,  as  huge,  and  old,  and  gray  ! 


THE    HUNTER    OF    THE    PRAIRIES. 

Free  stray  the  lucid  streams,  and  find 

No  taint  in  these  fresh  lawns  and  shades  ; 

Free  spring  the  flowers  that  scent  the  wind 
Where  never  scythe  has  swept  the  glades. 

Alone  the  Fire,  when  frost-winds  sere 

The  heavy  herbage  of  the  ground, 
Gathers  his  annual  harvest  here, 

With  roafing4ike  the  battle's  sound, 
And  hurrying  flames  that  sweep  the  plain, 

And  smoke-streams  gushing  up  the  sky  : 
I  meet  the  flames  with  flames  again, 

And  at  my  door  they  cower  and  die. 

Here,  from  dim  woods,  the  aged  past 
Speaks  solemnly  ;  and  I  behold 

The  boundless  future  in  the  vast 
And  lonely  river,  seaward  rolled. 

Who  feeds  its  founts  with  rain  and  dew  ; 
Who  moves,  I  ask,  its  gliding  mass, 


124  LATER  POEMS. 

And  trains  the  bordering  vines,  whose  blue 
Bright  clusters  tempt  me  as  I  pass  ? 

Broad  are  these  streams — my  steed  obeys, 

Plunges,  and  bears  me  through  the  tide 
Wide  are  these  woods — I  thread  the  maze 

Of  giant  stems,  nor  ask  a  guide. 
I  hunt  till  day's  last  glimmer  dies 

O'er  woody  vale  and  grassy  height  , 
And  kind  the  voice  and  glad  the  eyes 

That  welcome  my  ret  urn  at  night. 


SEVENTY-SIX. 

WHAT  heroes  from  the  woodland  sprung, 
When,  through  the  fresh  awakened  land, 

The  thrilling  cry  of  freedom  rung, 

And  to  the  work  of  warfare  strung 
The  yeoman's  iron  hand ! 

Hills  flung  the  cry  to  hills  around, 
And  ocean-mart  replied  to  mart, 
And  streams,  whose  springs  were  yet  unfound, 


126  LATER  POEMS. 

Pealed  far  away  the  startling  sound 
Into  the  forest's  heart. 

Then  inarched  the  brave  from  rocky  steep, 

From  mountain  river  swift  and  cold  ; 
The  borders  of  the  stormy  deep, 
The  vales  where  gathered  waters  sleep, 
Sent  up  the  strong  and  bold, — 

As  if  the  very  earth  again 

Grew  quick  with  God's  creating  breath. 
And,  from  the  sods  of  grove  and  glen, 
Rose  ranks  of  lion-hearted  men 

To  battle  to  thejieath 

The  wife,  whose  babe  first  smiled  that  day, 

The  fair  fond  bride  of  yestereve, 
And  aged  sire  and  matron  gray, 
Saw  the  loved  warriors  haste  away, 
And  deemed  it  sin  to  grieve. 


SEVENTY-SIX.  127 

Already  had  the  strife  begun  ; 

Already  blood  on  Concord's  plain 
Along  the  springing  grass  had  run, 
And  blood  had  flowed  at  Lexington, 

Like  brooks  of  April  rain. 

That  death-stain  on  the  vernal  sward 
Hallowed  to  freedom  all  the  shore  ; 

In  fragments  fell  the  yoke  abhorred — 

The  footstep  of  a  foreign  lord 
Profaned  the  soil  no  more. 


THE  LIVING  LOST. 

MATRON  !  the  children  of  whose  love, 

Each  to  his  grave,  in  youth  have  passed, 
And  now  the  mould  is  heaped  above 

The  dearest  and  the  last  ! 
Bride  !  who  dost  wear  the  widow's  veil 
Before  the  wedding  flowers  are  pale  ! 
Ye  deem  the  human  heart  endures 
Np  deeper,  bitterer  grief  than  yours. 

Yet  there  are  pangs  of  keener  wo, 
Of  which  the  sufferers  never  speak/** 


THE    LIVING    LOST.  129 

Nor  to  the  world's  cold  pity  show 
The  tears  that  scald  the  cheek, 
Wrung  from  their  eyelids  by  the  shame 
And  guilt  of  those  they  shrink  to  name. 
Whom  once  they  loved  with  cheerful  will, 
And  love,  though  fallen  and  branded,  still. 

Weep,  ye  who  sorrow  for  the  dead, 

Thus  breaking  hearts  their  pain  relieve  ; 
And  reverenced  are  the  tears  ye  shed, 

And  honored  ye  who  grieve. 
The  praise  of  those  who  sleep  in  earth, 
The  pleasant  memory  of  their  worth, 
The  hope  to  meet  when  life  is  past, 
Shall  heal  the  tortured  mind  at  last. 

But  ye,  who  for  the  living  lost 

That  agony  in  secret  bear, 
Who  shall  with  soothing  words  accost 

The  strength  of  your  despair  ? 


130  LATER   POEMS. 

Grief  for  your  sake  is  scorn  for  them 
Whom  ye  lament  and  all  condemn  ; 
And  o'er  the  world  of  spirits  lies 
A.  gloom  from  which  ye  turn  your  eyes. 


CATTERSKILL  FALLS. 

MIDST  greens  and  shades  the  Catterskill  leaps, 
From  cliffs  where  the  wood-flower  clings  ; 

All  summer  he  moistens  his  verdant  steeps 
With  the  sweet  light  spray  of  the  mountain 
springs  ; 

And  he  shakes  the  woods  on  the  mountain  side, 

Whec  they  drip  with  the  rains  of  autumn-tide. 

But  when,  in  the  forest  bare  and  old, 
The  blast  of  December  calls, 


132  LATER    POEMS. 

He  builds,  in  the  starlight  clear  and  cold, 
A  palace  of  ice  where  his  torrent  falls. 
With  turret,  and  arch,  and  fretwork  fair, 
And  pillars  blue  as  the  summer  air 

For  whom  are  those  glorious  chamber  swroughtj 

In  the  cold  and  cloudless  night  ? 
Is  there  neither  spirit  nor  motion  of  thought. 

In  forms  so  lovely,  and  hues  so  bright  ? 
Hear  what  the  gray-haired  woodmen  tell 
Of  this  wild  stream  and  its  rocky  dell. 

;Twas  hither  a  youth  of  dreamy  mood, 
A  hundred  winters  a^o, 

o    J 

Had  wandered  over  the  mighty  wood, 

When  the  panther's  track  was  fresh  on  the 

snow, 

And  keen  were  the  winds  that  came  to  stir 
The  long  dark  boughs  of  the  hemlock-fir. 


CATTERSKILL    FAI.LS. 

Too  gentle  of  mien  he  seemed  and  fair 
For  a  child  of  those  ragged  steeps  ; 

His  home  lay  low  in  the  valley  where 
The  kingly  Hudson  rolls  to  the  deeps  ; 

But  he  wore  the  hunter's  frock  that  day, 

And  a  slender  gun  on  his  shoulder  lay. 

And  here  he  paused,  and  against  the  trunk 

Of  a  tall  gray  linden  leant, 
When  the  broad  clear  orb  of  the  sun  had  sunk 

From  his  path  in  the  frosty  firmament, 
And  over  the  round  dark  edge  of  the  hill 
A  cold  green  light  was  quivering  still. 

And  the  crescent  moon,  high  over  the  green, 

From  a  sky  of  crimson  shone, 
On  that  icy  palace,  whose  towers  were  seen 

To  sparkle  as  if  with  stars  of  their  own  ; 
While  the  water  fell  with  a  hollow  sound, 
'Twixt  the  glistening  pillars  ranged  around 


134  LATER    POEMS. 

Is  that  a  being  of  life,  that  moves 
Where  tho  crystal  battlements  rise? 

A  maiden  watching  the  moon  she  loves, 
At  the  twilight  hour,  with  pensive  eyes? 

Was  that  a  garment  which  seemed  to  gleam 

Betwixt  his  eye  and  the  falling  stream  ? 

Tis  only  the  torrent  tumbling  o'er, 
In  the  midst  of  those  glassy  walls, 

Gushing,  and  plunging,  and  beating  the  floor 
Of  the  rocky  basin  in  which  it  falls. 

'Tis  only  the  torrent — but  why  that  start  ? 

Why  gazes  the  youth  with  a  throbbing  heart  ? 

He  thinks  no  more  of  his  home  afar, 

Where  his  sire  and  sister  wait. 
He  heeds  no  longer  how  star  after  star 

Looks  forth  on  the  night  as  the  hour  grows  late. 
He  heeds  not  the  snow-wreaths,  lifted  and  cast 
From  a  thousand  boughs,  by  the  rising  blast. 


CATTERSKILL    FALLS.  135 

His  thoughts  are  alone  of  those  who  dwell 

In  the  halls  of  frost  and  snow, 
Who  pass  where  the  crystal  domes  upswell 

From  the  alabaster  floors  below, 
Where  the  frost-trees  shoot  with  leaf  and  spray, 
And  frost-gems  scatter  a  silvery  day. 

"  And  oh  that  those  glorious  haunts  were  mine  ! 

He  speaks,  and  throughout  the  glen 
Thin  shadows  swim  in  the  faint  moonshine, 

And  take  a  ghastly  likeness  of  men, 
As  if  the  slain  by  the  wintry  storms 
Came  forth  to  the  air  in  their  earthly  forms. 

There  pass  the  chassis  of  seal  and  whale, 
With  their  weapons  quaint  and  grim, 
And  bands  of  warriors  in  glittering  mail, 

And  herdsmen  and  hunters  huge  of  limb. 
There  are  naked  arms,  with  bow  and  spear, 
And  furry  gauntlets  the  carbine  rear. 


136  LATER  POEMS. 

There  are  mothers — and  oh  how  sadly  their  eyes 
On  their  children's  white  brows  rest  ! 

There  are  youthful  lovers — the  maiden  lies, 
In  a  seeming  sleep,  on  the  chosen  breast  ; 

There  are  fair  wan  women  with  moonstruck  air. 

The  snow  stars  flecking  their  long  loos 3  hair. 

They  eye  him  not  as  they  pass  along, 
But  his  hair  stands  up  with  dread, 

When  he  feels  that  he  moves  with  that  phantom 

throng, 
Till  those  icy  turrets  are  over  his  head, 

And  the  torrent's  roar  as  they  enter  seems 

Like  a  drowsy  murmur  heard  in  dreams. 

The  glittering  threshold  is  scarcely  passed, 
When  there  gathers  and  wraps  him  round 

A  thick  white  twilight,  sullen  and  vast, 
In  which  there  is  neither  form  nor  sound  ; 

The  phantoms,  the  glory,  vanish  all, 

With  the  dvino:  voice  of  the  waterfall. 


CATTERSKILL    FALLS.  137 

Slow  passes  the  darkness  of  that  trance, 

And  the  youth  now  faintly  sees 
Huge  shadows  and  gushes  of  light  that  dance 

On  a  rugged  ceiling  of  unhewn  trees, 
And  walls  where  the  skins  of  beasts  are  hung, 
And  rifles  glitter  on  antlers  strung. 

On  a  couch  of  shaggy  skins  he  lies  ; 

As  he  strives  to  raise  his  head, 
Hard-featured  woodmen,  with  kindly  eyes, 

Come  round  him  and  smooth  his  furry  bed, 
And  bid  him  rest,  for  the  evening  star 
Is  scarcely  set  and  the  day  is  far. 

They  had  found  at  eve  the  dreaming  one 

By  the  base  of  that  icy  steep, 
When  over  his  stiffening  limbs  begun 

The  deadly  slumber  of  frost  to  creep, 
And  had  cherished  the  pale  and  breathless  foim. 
Till  the  stagnant  blood  ran  free  and  warm. 
2*. 


THE  STRANGE  LADY. 

THE  summer  morn  is  bright  and  fresh,  the  birds 

are  darting  by, 
As  if  they  loved  to  breast  the  breeze  that  sweeps 

the  cool  clear  sky ; 
Young  Albert,  in  the  forest's  edge,  has  heard  a 

rustling  sound, 
An  arrow    lightly    strikes  his  hand   and   falls 

upon  the  ground. 


THE    STRANGE    LADY.  139 

A  dark-haired  woman  from  the  wood  comes  sud 
denly  in  sight  ; 

Her  merry  eye  is  full  and  black,  her  cheek  is 
brown  and  bright ; 

Her  gown  is  of  the  mid-sea  blue,  her  belt  with 
beads  is  strung, 

And  yet  she  speaks  in  gentle  tones,  and  in  the 
English  tongue. 


"  It  was  an  idle  bolt  I  sent,  against  the  villain 

crow  ; 
Fair  sir,  I  fear  it  harmed  thy  hand  ;  beshrew 

my  erring  bow  ! " 
''Ah  !  would  that  bolt  had  not   been  spent  ! 

then,  lady,  might  I  wear 
A  lasting  token  on  my  hand  of  one  so  passing 

fair!" 


140  LATER    POEMS. 

"Thou  art  a  flatterer  like  the  rest,  but  wouldst 

thou  take  with  me 
A  day  of  hunting  in  the  wilds,  beneath   the 

greenwood  tree, 
I  know  where  most  the  pheasants  feed,    and 

where  the  red  deer  herd, 
And  thou  shouldst  chase  the  nobler  game,  and 

I  bring  down  the  bird." 


Now  Albert  in  her  quiver  lays  the  arrow  in  its 
place, 

And  wonders  as  he  gazes  on  the  beauty  of  her 
face  : 

"  Those  hunting-grounds  are  far  away,  and, 
lady,  'twere  not  meet, 

That  night,  amid  the  wilderness,  should  over 
take  thy  feet." 


THE    STRANGE   LADY.  141 

i 

!t  Heed  not  the  night  ;  a  summer  lodge  amid 
the  wild  is  mine, — 

Tis  shadowed  by  the  tulip-tree,  'tis  mantled  by 
the  vine  ; 

The  wild  plum  sheds  its  yellow  fruit  from  fra 
grant  thickets  nigh, 

And  flowery  prairies  from  the  door  stretch  till 
they  meet  the  sky. 


"  There  in  the  boughs  that  hide  the  roof  the 

mock-bird  sits  and  sings, 
And  there  the  hang-bird's  brood  within  its  little 

hammock  swings  ; 
A  pebbly  brook,  where  rustling  winds  among  the 

hopples  sweep, 
Shall  lull  thee  till  the  morning  sun  looks  in  upon 

thy  sleep." 


142  LATER  POEMS. 

Away,  into  the  forest  depths  by  pleasant  paths 

they  .go, 
He  with  his  rifle  on  his  arm;  the  lady  with  her 

bow, 
Where  cornels  arch  their  cool  dark  boughs  o'er 

beds  of  wintergreen, 
And  never  at  his  father's  door  again  was  Albert 

seen. 


That  night  upon  the  woods  came  down  a  furious 

hurricane, 
With  howl  of  winds  and  roar  of  streams,  and 

beating  of  the  rain  ; 
The  mighty  thunder  broke  and  drowned  the 

noises  in  its  crash  ; 
The  old  trees  seemed  to  fight  like  fiends  beneath 

the  lightning-flash. 


THE    STRANGE   LADY.  143 

Next  day,  within  a  mossy  glen,  'mid  moulder 
ing  trunks  were  found 

The  fragments  of  a  human  form  upon  the  bloody 
ground  ; 

With  hones  from  which  the  flesh  was  torn,  and 
locks  of  glossy  hair  ; 

They  laid  them  in  the  place  of  graves,  yet  wist 
not  whose  they  were. 


And    whether  famished    evening  wolves  had 

mangled  Albert  so, 
Or  that  strange  dame  so  gay  and  fair  were  some 

mysterious  foe, 
Or  whether  to  that  forest  lodge,  beyond  the 

mountains  blue, 
He  went  to  dwell  with  her,  the  friends  who 

mourned  him  never  knew. 


LIFE, 

On  Life,  I  breathe  thee  in  the  breeze, 
I  feel  thee  bounding  in  my  veins, 

I  see  thee  in  these  stretching  trees, 

These  flowers,  this  still  rock's  mossy  stains, 

This  stream  of  odors  flowing  by, 

From  clover  field  and  clumps  of  pine, 

This  music,  thrilling  all  the  sky, 

From  all  the  morning  birds,  are  thine. 


LIFE.  145 

Thou  fill'st  with  joy  this  little  one, 
That  leaps  and  shouts  beside  me  here, 

Where  Isar's  clay-white  rivulets  run 
Through  the  dark  woods  like  frighted  deer. 

Ah  !  must  the  mighty  breath,  that  wakes 
Insect  and  bird,  and  flower  and  tree, 

From  the  low  trodden  dust,  and  makes 
Their  daily  gladness,  pass  from  me — 

Pass,  pulse  by  pulse,  till  o'er  the  ground 

These  limbs,  now  strong,  shall  creep  with  pain, 

And  this  fair  world  of  sight  and  sound 
Seem  fading  into  night  again  ? 

The  things,  oh  LIFE  !  thou  quickenest,  all 
Strive  upward  towards  the  broad  bright  sky, 

Upward  and  outward,  and  they  fall 
Back  to  earth's  bosom  when  they  die. 


146  LATER  POEMS. 

All  that  have  borne  the  touch  of  death, 
All  that  shall  live,  lie  mingled  there, 

Beneath  that  veil  of  bloom  and  breath, 
That  living  zone  'twixt  earth  and  air 

There  lies  my  chamber  dark  and  still, 
The  atoms  trampled  by  my  feet, 

There  wait,  to  take  the  place  I  fill 
In  the  sweet  air  and  sunshine  sweet. 

Well,  I  have  had  my  turn,  have  been 
Raised  from  the  darkness  of  the  clod, 

And  for  a  glorious  moment  seen 

The  brightness  of  the  skirts  of  God  ; 

And  knew  the  light  within  my  breast, 
Though  wavering  oftentimes  and  dim, 

The  power,  the  will,  that  never  rest, 
And  cannot  die,  were  all  from  him. 


LIFE.  147 

Dear  child  !  I  know  that  thou  wilt  grieve 

To  see  me  taken  from  thy  love, 
Wilt  seek  my  grave  at  Sabbath  eve, 

And  weep,  and  scatter  flowers  above. 

Thy  little  heart  will  soon  be  healed, 
And  being  shall  be  bliss,  till  thou 

To  younger  forms  of  life  must  yield 
The  place  thou  fill'st  with  beauty  now. 

When  we  descend  to  dust  again, 

Where  will  the  final  dwelling  be 
Of  Thought  and  all  its  memories  then, 

My  love  for  thee,  and  thine  for  me? 


"EARTH'S  CHILDREN  CLEAVE  TO 
EARTH." 

EARTH'S  children  cleave  to  Earth — her  frail 

Decaying  children  dread  decay. 
Yon  wreath  of  mist  that  leaves  the  vale 

And  lessens  in  the  morning  ray  ; 
Look,  how,  by  mountain  rivulet, 

It  lingers  as  it  upward  creeps, 
And  clings  to  fern  and  copserrood  set 

Along  the  green  and  dewy  steeps  : 
Clings  to  the  flowery  kalmia,  clings 

To  precipices  fringed  with  grass, 


"  EARTH  S  CHILDREN  CLEAVE  TO  EARTH."    149 

Dark  maples  where  the  wood-thrush  sings, 

And  bowers  of  fragrant  sassafras. 
Yet  all  in  vain — it  passes  still 

From  hold  to  hold  ;  it  cannot  stay, 
And  in  the  very  beams  that  fill 

The  world  with  glory,  wastes  away, 
Till,  parting  from  the  mountain's  brow, 

It  vanishes  from  human  eye, 
And  that  which  sprung  of  earth  is  now 

A  portion  of  the  glorious  sky. 


THE  HUNTER'S  VISION. 

UPON  a  rock  that,  high  and  sheer, 
Eose  from  the  mountain's  breast, 

A  weary  hunter  of  the  deer 
Had  set  him  down  to  rest, 

And  bared  to  the  soft  summer  .air 

His  hot  red  brow  and  sweaty  hair. 

All  dim  in  haze  the  mountains  lay, 
With  dimmer  vales  between  ; 


151 


And  rivers  glimmered  on  their  way, 

By  forests  faintly  seen  ; 
While  ever  rose  a  murmuring  scund, 
From  brooks  below  and  bees  around. 


He  listened,  till  he  seemed  to  hear 
A  strain,  so  soft  and  low, 

That  whether  in  the  mind  or  ear 
The  listener  scarce  might  know. 

With  such  a  tone,  so  sweet,  so  mild. 

The  watching  mother  lulls  her  child. 


"  Thou  weary  huntsman,"  thus  it  said, 
"  Thou  faint  with  toil  and  heat, 

The  pleasant  land  of  rest  is  spread 
Before  thy  very  feet, 

And  those  whom  thou  wouldst  gladly  see 

Are  waiting  there  to  welcome  thee." 


LATER    POEMS. 

He  looked,  and  'twixt  the  earth  and  sky, 

Amid  the  noontide  haze, 
A  shadowy  region  met  his  eye, 

And  grew  beneath  his  gaze, 
As  if  the  vapors  of  the  air 
Had  gathered  into  shapes  so  fair. 


Groves  freshened  as  he  looked,  and  flowers 
Showed  bright  on  rocky  bank, 

And  fountains  welled  beneath  the  bowers, 
Where  deer  and  pheasant  drank. 

He  saw  the  glittering  streams,  he  heard 

The  rustling  bough  and  twittering  bird. 


And  friends,  the  dead,  in  boyhood  dear, 
There  lived  and  walked  again. 

And  there  was  one  who  many  a  year 
Within  her  grave  had  lain, 


THE  HUNTER'S  VISION.  153 

A  fair  young  girl,  the  hamlet's  pride — 
His  heart  was  breaking  when  she  died  : 


Bounding,  as  was  her  wont,  she  came 

Eight  toward  his  resting-place, 
And  stretched  her  hand  and  called  his  name 

With  that  sweet  smiling  face. 
Forward  with  fixed  and  eager  eyes, 
The  hunter  leaned,  in  act  to  rise. 


Forward  he  leaned,  and  headlong  down 
Plunged  from  that  craggy  wall ; 

He  saw  the  rocks,  steep,  stern,  and  brown, 
An  instant,  in  his  fall ; 

A  frightful  instant — and  no  more, 

The  dream  and  life  at  once  were  o'er. 


THE  GEEEN  MOUNTAIN  BOYS. 


HERE  halt  we  our  march,  and  pitch  our  tent, 

On  the  rugged  forest  ground, 
And  light  our  fire  with  the  branches  rent 

By  winds  from  the  beeches  round. 
Wild  storms  have  torn  this  ancient  wood, 

But  a  wilder  is  at  hand, 
With  hail  of  iron  and  rain  of  blood, 

To  sweep  and  waste  the  land. 


THE  GREEK  MOUNTAIN  BOYS.      155 
II. 

How  the  dark  wood  rings  with  voices  shrill, 

That  startle  the  sleeping  bird  ; 
To-morrow  eve  must  the  voice  be  still, 

And  the  step  must  fall  unheard. 
The  Briton  lies  by  the  blue  Champlain, 

In  Ticonderoga's  towers, 
And  ere  the  sun  rise  twice  again, 

Must  they  and  the  lake  be  ours. 

in. 

Fill  up  the  bowl  from  the  brook  that  glides 

Where  the  fireflies  light  the  brake ; 
A  ruddier  juice  the  Briton  hides 

In  his  fortress  by  the  lake. 
Build  high  the  fire,  till  the  panther  leap 

From  his  lofty  perch  in  fright, 
And  we'll  strengthen  our  weary  arms  with  sleep 

For  the  deeds  of  to-morrow  night. 


A  PRESENTIMENT. 

"On  father,  let  us  hence — for  hark, 
A  fearful  murmur  shakes  the  air  ; 

The  clouds  are  coming  swift  and  dark  ;— 
What  horrid  shapes  they  wear  ! 

A  winged  giant  sails  the  sky  ; 

Oh  father,  father,  let  us  fly  !  " 

'  Hush,  child ;  it  is  a  grateful  sound, 
That  beating  of  the  summer  shower ; 


A    PRESENTIMENT.  157 

Here,  where  the  boughs  hang  close  around, 

We'll  pass  a  pleasant  hour, 
Till  the  fresh  wind,  that  brings  the  rain, 
Has  swept  the  broad  heaven  clear  again/' 


"Nay,  father,  let  us  haste — for  see, 
That  horrid  thing  with  horned  brow, — 

His  wings  o'erhang  this  very  tree, 
He  scowls  upon  us  now  ; 

His  huge  black  arm  is  lifted  high  ; 

Oh  father,  father,  let  us  fly  !  " 

"  Hush,  child  ;  "  but,  as  the  father  spoke, 
Downward  the  livid  firebolt  came, 

Close  to  his  ear  the  thunder  broke, 
And,  blasted  by  the  flame, 

The  child  lay  dead ;  while  dark  and  still, 

Swept  the  grim  cloud  along  the  hill. 


THE  CHILD'S  FUNERAL. 

FAIR  is  thy  site,  Sorrento,  green  thy  shore, 
Black  crags  behind  thee  pierce  the  clear  blue 
skies  ] 

The  sea,  whose  borderers  ruled  the  world  of  yore, 
As  clear  and  bluer  still  before  thee  lies 

Vesuvius  smokes  in  sight,  whose  fount  of  fire, 
Outgushing,  drowned  the  cities  on  his  steeps : 

A.nd  murmuring  Naples,  spire  overtopping  spire  ; 
Sits  on  the  slope  beyond  where  Virgil  sleeps, 


150 


Here  doth  the  earth,  with  flowers  of  every  hue, 
Heap  her  green  breast  when  April  suns  are 
bright, 

Flowers  of  the  morning-red,  or  ocean-blue, 
Or  like  the  mountain  frost  of  silvery  white. 

Currents  of  fragrance,  from  the  orange  tree, 
And  sward  of  violets,  breathing  to  and  fro, 

Mingle,  and,  wandering  out  upon  the  sea, 
Refresh  the  idle  boatman  where  ftiey  blow. 

Yet  even  here,  as  under  harsher  climes, 

Tears  for  the  loved  and  early  lost  are  shed  ; 

That  soft  air  saddens  with  the  funeral  chimes  ; 
Those  shining  flowers  are  gathered  for   the 
dead. 

Here  once  a  child,  a  smiling  playful  one, 
All  the  day  long  caressing  and  caressed, 


160  LATER    POEMS. 

Died  when  its  little  tongue  had  just  begun 
To  lisp  the  names  of  those  it  loved  the  best 

The  father  strove  his  struggling  grief  to  quell, 
The  mother  wept  as  mothers  use  to  weep, 

Two  little  sisters  wearied  them  to  tell 

When  their  dear  Carlo  would  awake  from 
sleep. 

Within  aif  inner  room  his  couch  they  spread, 
His  funeral  couch ;  with  mingled  grief  and 
love, 

They  laid  a  crown  of  roses  on  his  head, 

And  murmured,"  Brighter  is  his  crown  above." 

They  scattered  round  him,  on  the  snowy  sheet, 
Laburnum's  strings  of  sunny-colored  gems, 

Sad  hyacinths,  and  violets  dim  and  sweet, 
And  orange  blossoms  on  their   dark  green 
stems. 


THE  CHILD'S  FUNERAL.  161 

And  now  the  hour  is  come ;  the  priest  is  there ; 

Torches  are  lit  and  bells  are  tolled  ;  they  go, 
With  solemn  rites  of  blessing  and  of  prayer, 

To  lay  the  little  one  in  earth  below. 

The  door  is  opened ;  hark !  that  quick  glad  cry  ; 

Carlo  has  waked,  has  waked,  and  is  at  play  ! 
The  little  sisters  laugh  and  leap,  and  try 

To  climb  the  bed  on  which  the  infant  lay. 

And  there  he  sits  alive,  and  gayly  shakes 

In  his  full  hands,  the  blossoms  red  and  white, 
And  smiles  with   winking  eyes,  like   one  who 

wakes 

From   long  deep  slumbers  at   the   morning 
light. 

21 


THE  BATTLE-FIELD. 

ONCE  this  soft  turf,  this  rivulet's  sands, 
Were  trampled  by  a  hurrying  crowd, 

And  fiery  hearts  and  armed  hands 
Encountered  in  the  battle  cloud. 

Ah  !  never  shall  the  land  forget 

How  gushed  the  life-blood  of  her  brave- 
Gushed,  warm  with  hope  and  courage  yet, 

Upon  the  soil  they  fought  to  save. 


THE    BATTLE-FIELD.  163 

Now  all  is  calm,  and  fresh,  and  still, 

Alone  the  chirp  of  flitting  bird, 
And  talk  of  children  on  the  hill, 

And  bell  of  wandering  kine  are  heard. 

No  solemn  host  goes  trailing  by 

The  black-mouthed  gun  and  staggering  wain; 
Men  start  not  at  the  battle-cry  ; 

Oh,  be  it  never  heard  again  ! 

Soon  rested  those  who  fought  ;  but  thou, 
Who  minglest  in  the  harder  strife 

For  truths  which  men  receive  not  now, 
Thy  warfare  only  ends  with  life. 

A  friendless  warfare  !  lingering  long 
Through  weary  day  and  weary  year. 

A  wild  and  many-weaponed  throng 

Hang  on  thy  front,  and  flank,  and  rear. 


164  LATER  POEMS. 

Yet  nerve  thy  spirit  to  the  proof, 
And  blench  not  at  thy  chosen  lot 

The  timid  good  may  stand  aloof, 

The  sage  may  frown — yet  faint  thou  not. 

Nor  heed  the  shaft  too  surely  cast, 
The  foul  and  hissing  bolt  of  scorn  ; 

For  with  thy  side  shall  dwell,  at  last, 
The  victory  of  endurance  born. 

1 
Truth  crushed  to  earth  shall  rise  again  ; 

The  eternal  years  of  God  are  hers  ; 
But  Error  wounded,  writhes  in  pain, 
And  dies  among  his  worshippers. 

Yea,  though  thou  lie  upon  the  dust, 
When  they  who  helped  thee  flee  in  fear. 

Die  full  of  hope  and  manly  trust, 
Like  those  who  fell  in  battle  here. 


THE    BATTLE-FIELD.  165 


Another  hand  the  sword  shall  wield, 
Another  hand  the  standard  wave, 

Till  from  the  trumpet's  mouth  is  pealed 
The  blast  of  triumph  o'er  thy  grave. 


THE  FUTUKE  LIFE. 

How  shall  I  know  thee  in  the  sphere  which  keeps 
The  disembodied  spirits  of  the  dead, 

When  all  of  thee  that  time  could  wither  sleeps 
And  perishes  among  the  dust  we  tread? 

For  I  shall  feel  the  sting  of  ceaseless  pain 
If  there  I  meet  thy  gentle  presence  not ; 

Nor  hear  the  voice  I  love,  nor  read  again 
In  thy  serenest  eyes  the  tender  thojight. 


THE    FUTURE    LIFE.  167 

Will  not  thy  own  meek  heart  demand  me  there? 

That  heart  whose  fondest  throbs  to  me  were 

given? 
My  name  on  earth  was  ever  in  thy  prayer, 

And  must  thou  never  utter  it  in  heaven  ? 

In  meadows  fanned  by  heaven's  life-breathing 
wind, 

In  the  resplendence  of  that  glorious  sphere, 
And  larger  movements  of  the  unfettered  mind, 

Wilt  thou  forget  the  love  that  joined  us  here  ? 

The  love  that  lived  through  all  the  stormy  past, 
And  meekly  with  my  harsher  nature  bore, 

And  deeper  grew,  and  tenderer  to  the  last, 
Shall  it  expire  with  life,  and  be  no  more  ? 

A  happier  lot  than  mine,  and  larger  light, 
Await  thee  there  ;  for  thou  hast  bowed  thy 
will 


168  LATER   POEMS. 

In  cheerful  homage  to  the  rule  of  right, 
And  lovest  all,  and  renderest  good  for  ill. 

For  me,  the  sordid  cares  in  which  I  dwell, 
Shrink  and  consume  my  heart,  as  heat  the 
scroll ; 

And  wrath  has  left  its  scar — that  fire  of  hell 
Has  left  its  frightful  scar  upon  my  soul. 

Yet  though  thou  wear'st  the  glory  of  the  sky, 
Wilt  thou  not  keep  the  same  heloved  name, 

The  same  fair  thoughtful  brow,  and  gentle  eye, 
Lovelier  in  heaven's  sweet  climate,  yet  the 
same? 

Sh,alt  thou  not  teach  me,  in  that  calmer  home, 
The  wisdom  that  I  learned  so  ill  in  this — 

The  wisdom  which  is  love — till  I  become 
Thy  fit  companion  in  that  land  of  bliss  ? 


THE  DEATH  OF  SCHILLER. 

"Pis  said,  when  Schiller's  death  drew  nigh, 
The  wish  possessed  his  mighty  mind, 

To  wander  forth  wherever  lie 

The  homes  and  haunts  of  human-kind. 

Then  strayed  the  poet,  in  his  dreams, 
By  Rome  and  Egypt's  ancient  graves  ; 

Went  up  the  New  World's  forest-streams, 
Stood  in  the  Hindoo's  temple-caves  ; 


170  LATER    POEMS. 

Walked  with  the  Pawnee,  fierce  and  stark, 
The  sallow  Tartar,  midst  his  herds, 

The  peering  Chinese,  and  the  dark 
False  Malay  uttering  gentle  words. 

How  could  he  rest  ?  even  then  he  trod 
The  threshold  of  the  world  unknown ; 

Already,  from  the  seat  of  God, 

A  ray  upon  his  garments  shone  ; — 

Shone  and  awoke  the  strong  desire 

For  love  and  knowledge  reached  not  here, 

Till,  freed  by  death,  his  soul  of  fire 
Sprang  to  a  fairer,  ampler  sphere. 


THE  FOUNTAIN. 

FOUNTAIN,  that  springest  on  this  grassy  slope, 
Thy  quick  cool  murmur  mingles  pleasantly, 
With  the  cool  sound  of  breezes  in  the  beech, 
Above  me  in  the  noontide.     Thou  dost  wear 
No  stain  of  thy  dark  birthplace  ;  gushing  up 
From  the  red  mould  and  slimy  roots  of  earth, 
Thou  flashest  in  the  sun.     The  mountain  air, 
In  winter,  is  not  clearer,  nor  the  dew 


172  LATER    POEMS. 

That  shines  on  mountain  blossom.     Thus  doth 

God 
Bring,  from  the  dark  and  foul,  the  pure  and 

bright. 

This  tangled  thicket  on  the  bank  above 
Thy  basin,  how  thy  waters  keep  it  green ! 
For  thou  dost  feed  the  roots  of  the  wild  vine 
That  trails  all  over  it,  and  to  the  twigs 
Ties  fast  her  clusters.     There   the  spice-bush 

lifts 

Her  leafy  lances  ;  the  viburnum  there, 
Paler  of  foliage,  to  the  sun  holds  up 
Her  circlet  of  green  berries.     In  and  out 
The  chipping  sparrow,  in  her  coat  of  brown, 
Steals  silently,  lest  I  should  mark  her  nest 

Not  such  thou  wert  of  yore,  ere  yet  the  axe 
Had  smitten  the  old  woods.     Then  hoary  trunks 


THE    FOUNTAIN.  173 

Of  oak,  and  plane,  and  hickory,  o'er  thee  held 
A  mighty  canopy.     When  April  winds 
Grew  soft,  the  maple  burst  into  a  flush 
Of  scarlet  flowers.     The  tulip-tree,  high  up, 
Opened,  in  airs  of  June,  her  multitude 
Of  golden  chalices  to  humming-birds 
And  silken-winged  insects  of  the  sky. 

Frail  wood-plants  clustered  round  thy  edge  in 

Spring. 

The  liveiieaf  put  forth  her  sister  blooms 
Of  faintest  blue.     Here  the  quick-footed  wolf, 
Pausing  to  lap  thy  waters,  crushed  the  flower 
Of  sanguinaria,  from  whose  brittle  stem 
The  red  drops  fell  like  blood.  The  deer,  too,  left 
Her  delicate  foot-print  in  the  soft  moist  mould, 
And  on  the  fallen  leaves.    The  slow-paced  bear, 
In  such  a  sultry  summer  noon  as  this, 
Stopped  at  thy  stream,  and  drank,  and  leaped 

across. 


174  LATER   POEMS. 

But  thou  hast  histories  that  stir  the  heart 
With  deeper  feeling  ;  while  I  look  on  thee 
They  rise  before  me.     I  behold  the  scene 
Hoary  again  with  forests  ;  I  behold 
The  Indian  warrior,  whom  a  hand  unseen 
Has  smitten  with  his  death-wound  in  the  woods, 
Creep  slowly  to  thy  well-known  rivulet, 
And  slake  his  death-thirst.     Hark,  that  quick 

fierce  cry 

That  rends  the  utter  silence  ;  'tis  the  whoop 
Of  battle,  and  a  throng  of  savage  men 
With  naked  arms  and  faces  stained  like  blood, 
Fill  the  green  wilderness  ;  the  long  bare  arms 
Are  heaved  aloft,  bows  twang  and  arrows  stream ; 
Each  makes  a  tree  his  shield,  and  every  tree 
Sends  forth  its  arrow.  Fierce  the  fight  and  short, 
As  is  the  whirlwind.     Soon  the  conquerors 
And  conquered  vanish,  and  the  dead  remain 
Mangled  by  tomahawks.     The  mighty  woods 
Are  still  again,  the  frighted  bird  comes  back 


THE   FOUNTAIN.  175 

And  plumes  her  wings  ;  but  thy  sweet  waters 

run 
Crimson  with  blood.     Then,  as  the    sun  goes 

down, 

Amid  the  deepening  twilight  I  descry 
Figures  of  men  that  crouch  and  creep  unheard, 
And  bear  away  the  dead.  The  next  day's  shower 
Shall  wash  the  tokens  of  the  fight  away. 

I  look  again — a  hunter's  lodge  is  built, 
With  poles  and  boughs,  beside  thy  crystal  well, 
While  the  meek  autumn  stains  the  woods  with 

gold, 

And  sheds  his  golden  sunshine.     To  the  door 
The  red  man  slowly  drags  the  enormous  bear 
Slain  in  the  chestnut  thicket,  or  flings  down 
The  deer  from  his  strong  shoulders.    Shaggy  fells 
Of  wolf  and  cougar  hang  upon  the  walls, 
And  loud  the  black-eyed  Indian  maidens  laugh, 
That  gather,  from  the  rustling  heaps  of  leaves, 


176  LATER   POEMS. 

The  hickory's  white  nuts,  and  the  dark  fruit 
That  falls  from  the  gray  butternut's  long  houghs 

So  centuries  passed  by,  and  still  the  woods 
Blossomed  in  spring,  and  reddened  when  the 

year 

Grew  chill,  and  glistened  in  the  frozen  rains 
Of  winter,  till  the  white  man  swung  the  axe 
Beside  thee — signal  of  a  mighty  change. 
Then  all  around  was  heard  the  crash  of  trees, 
Trembling  awhile  and  rushing  to  the  ground, 
The  low  of  ox,  and  shouts  of  men  who  fired 
The  brushwood,  or  who  tore   the    earth   with 

ploughs. 

The  grain  sprang  thick  and  tall,  and  hid  in  green 
The  blackened  hill-side  ;  ranks  of  spiky  maize 
Kose  like  a  host  embattled  ;  the  buckwheat 
Whitened   broad   acres,    sweetening   with   its 

flowers 
The  August  wind.     White  cottages  were  seen 


THE    FOUNTAIN.  177 

With  rose-trees  at  the  windows  ;    barns  from 

which 

Came  loud  and  shrill  the  crowing  of  the  cock  ; 
Pastures  where  rolled  and  neighed  the  lordly 

norse, 
And  white  flocks  browsed  and  bleated.     A  rich 

turf 

Of  grasses  brought  from  far  o'ererept  thy  bank, 
Spotted  with  the  white  clover.  Blue-eyed  girls 
Brought  pails,  and  dipped  them  in  thy  crystal 

pool  ; 

And  children,  ruddy-cheeked  and  flaxen-haired, 
Gathered  the  glistening  cowslip  from  thy  edge. 

Since  then,  what  steps  have  trod  thy  border  ! 

Here 

On  thy  green  bank,  the  woodman  of  the  swamp 
Has  laid  his  axe,  the  reaper  of  the  hill 
His  sickle,  as  they  stooped  to  taste  thy  stream. 
The  sportsman,  tired  with  wandering  in  the  still 


178  LATER  POEMS. 

September  noon,  has  bathed  his  heated  brow 
In  thy  cool  current.     Shouting  boys,  let  loose 
For  a  wild  hpliday,  have  quaintly  shaped 
Into  a  cup  the  folded  linden  leaf, 
And   dipped    thy  sliding   crystal.     From   the 

wars 

.Returning,  the  plumed  soldier  by  thy  side 
Has  sat,  and  mused   how   pleasant    'twere   to 

dwell 

In  such  a  spot,  and  be  as  free  as  thou, 
And  move  for  no  man's  bidding  more.     At  eve, 
When  thou  wert  crimson  with  the  crimson  sky, 
Lovers  have  gazed  upon  thee,  and  have  thought 
Their  mingled  lives  should  flow  as  peacefully 
And  brightly  as  thy  waters.     Here  the  sage, 
Gazing  into  thy  self-replenished  depth, 
Has  seen  eternal  order  circumscribe 
And  bind  the  motions  of  eternal  change, 
And  from  the  gushing  of  thy  simple  fount 
Has  reasoned  to  the  mighty  universe. 


THE    FOUNTAIN.  179 

Is  there  no  other  change  for  thee,  that  lurks 
Among  the  future  ages?     Will  not  man 
Seek  out  strange  arts  to  wither  and  deform 
The    pleasant   landscape    which   thou   makest 

green? 

Or  shall  the  veins  that  feed  thy  constant  stream 
Be  choked  in  middle  earth,  and  flow  no  more 
For  ever,  that  the  water-plants  along 
Thy  channel  perish,  and  the  bird  in  vain 
Alight  to  drink  ?     Haply  shall  these  green  hills 
Sink,  with  the  lapse  of  years,  into  the  gulf 
Of  ocean  waters,  and  thy  source  he  lost 
Amidst  the  bitter  brine  ?     Or  shall  they  rise, 
Upheaved  in  broken  cliffs  and  airy  peaks, 
Haunts  of  the  eagle  and  the  snake,  and  thou 
Gush  midway  from  the  bare  and  barren  steep  1 


THE  WINDS. 


YE  winds,  ye  unseen  currents  of  the  air, 

Softly  ye  played  a  few  brief  hours  ago  ; 
Ye  bore  the  murmuring  bee  ;  ye  tossed  the  hair 
O'er  maiden  cheeks,  that  took  a  fresher  glow  : 
Ye  rolled  the  round  white  cloud  through  depths 

of  blue  ; 
Ye  shook  from   shaded   flowers   the   lingering 

dew  ; 
Before  you  the  catalpa's  blossoms  flew, 

Light  blossoms,  dropping  on  the  grass  like 
snow. 


THE   WINDS.  181 


II. 


How  are  ye  changed  1     Ye  take  the  cataract's 
sound  ; 

Ye  take  the  whirlpool's  fury  and  its  might  ; 
The  mountain  shudders  as  ye  sweep  the  ground  ; 

The  valley  woods  lie  prone  beneath  your  flight 
The  clouds  before  you  shoot  like  eagles  past  ; 
The  homes  of  men  are  rocking  in  your  blast  ; 
Ye  lift  the  roofs  like  autumn  leaves,  and  cast 

Skyward,  the  whirling  fragments  out  of  sight, 


in. 


The  weary  fowls  of  heaven  make  wing  in  vain, 
To  escape   your  wrath  ;  ye  seize  and  dash 
them  dead. 

Against  the  earth  ye  drive  the  roaring  rain  ; 
The  harvest  field  becomes  a  river's  bed  ; 

And  torrents  tumble  from  the  hills  around, 

Plains  turn  to  lakes,  and  villages  are  drowned, 


182  LATER  POEMS. 

And  wailing  voices,  midst  the  tempest's  sound. 
Rise,  as  the  rushing  waters  swell  and  spread. 


IV. 

Ye  dart  upon  the  deep,  and  straight  is  heard 
A  wilder  roar,  and  men  grow  pale,  and  pray; 

YQ  fling  its  surges  round  you,  as  a  bird 
Flings  o'er  his  shivering  plumes  the  fountain's 
spray. 

See  !  to  the  breaking  mast  the  sailor  clings  ; 

Ye  scoop  the  ocean  to  its  briny  springs, 

And  take  the  mountain  billow  on  your  wings, 
And  pile  the  wreck  of  navies  round  the  bay. 


v. 

Why  rage  ye  thus  ?— no  strife  for  liberty 

Has   made   you    mad  ;    no    tyrant,    strong 
through  fear, 


THE    WINDS.  183 

Has  chained  your  pinions  till  ye  wrenched  them 

free, 

And  rushed  into  the  unmeasured  atmosphere; 
For  ye  were  born  in  freedom  where  ye  "blow  ; 
Free  o'er  the  mighty  deep  to  come  and  go  ; 
Earth's  solemn  woods  were  yours,  her  wastes  of 

snow, 
Her  isles  where  summer  blossoms  all  the  year, 


VI. 

0  ye  wild  winds  !  a  mightier  Power  than  yours 

In  chains  upon  the  shore  of  Europe  lies  ; 
The  sceptred  throng,  whose  fetters  he  endures, 
Watch  his  mute  throes  with  terror  in  their 

eyes  : 

And  armed  warriors  all  around  him  stand, 
And,  as  he  struggles,  tighten  every  band, 
And  lift  the  heavy  spear,  with  threatening  hand, 
To  pierce  the  victim,  should  he  strive  to  rise. 


184  LATER    POEMS. 

VII. 

Yet  oh,  when  that  wronged  Spirit  of  our  race, 
Shall  break,  as  soon  he  must,  his  long- worn 

chains, 
And  leap  in  freedom  from  his  prison  place, 

Lord  of  his  ancient  hills  and  fruitful  plains, 
Let  him  not  rise,  like  these  mad  winds  of  air, 
To  waste  the  loveliness  that  time  could  spare, 
To  fill  the  earth  with  wo,  and  blot  her  fair 
Unconscious  breast  with  blood  from  human 
veins. 

vin. 

But  may  he  like  the  spring-time  come  abroad, 
Who   crumbles   winter's  gyves   with  gentle 

might, 

When  in  the  genial  breeze,  the  breath  of  God, 
Come  spouting  up  the  unsealed  springs  tc 
light  ; 


THE    WINDS.  185 

Flowers  start  from  their  dark  prisons  at  his  feet; 
The   woods,  long  dumb,   awake   to   hymnings 

sweet, 
And  morn  and  eve,  whose  glimmerings  almost 

meet, 
Crowd  back   to  narrow  bounds  the  ancient 

night. 

22 


THE  OLD  MAN'S  COUNSEL. 

AMONG  our  hills  and  valleys,  I  have  known 
Wise  and  grave  men,  who,  while  their  diligent 

hands 

Tended  or  gathered  in  the  fruits  of  earth, 
Were- reverent  learners  in  the  solemn  school 
Of  nature.     Not  in  vain  to  them  were  sent 
Seed-time  and  harvest,  or  the  vernal  shower, 
That   darkened  the  hrown  tilth,  or  snow  that 

beat 


THE    OLD    MAN'S   COUNSEL.  187 

On  the  white  winter  hills.     Each  brought,  in 

turn, 

Some  truth,  some  lesson  on  the  life  of  man, 
Or  recognition  of  the  Eternal  mind 
Who  veils  his  glory  with  the  elements. 

One  such  I  knew  long  since,  a  white-haired 

man, 

Pithy  of  speech,  and  merry  when  he  would  ; 
A  genial  optimist,  whov  daily  drew 
From  what  he  saw,  his  quaint  moralities. 
Kindly  he  held  communion,  though  so  old, 
With  me  a  dreaming  boy,  and  taught  me  much 
That  books  tell  not,  and  I  shall  ne'er  forget. 

The  sun  of  May  was  bright  in  middle  heaven, 
And  steeped  the  sprouting  forests,  the  green 

hills, 
And  emerald  wheat-fields,  in  his  yellow  light. 


188  LATER  POEMS. 

Upon  the  apple-tree,  where  rosy  buds 
Stood  clustered,  ready  to  burst  forth  in  bloom. 
The  robin  warbled  forth  his  fall  clear  note 
For  hours,  and  wearied  not.    Within  the  woods, 
Whose  young  and  half  transparent  leaves  scarce 

cast 

A  shade,  gay  circles  of  anemones 
Danced  on  their  stalks  ;  the  shadbush,  white 

with  flowers, 

Brightened  the  glens  ;  the  new-leaved  butter 
nut 

And  quivering  poplar  to  the  roving  breeze 
Grave  a  balsamic  fragrance.     In  the  fields 
I  saw  the  pulses  of  the  gentle  wind 
On  the  young  grass.     My  heart  was  touched 

with  joy 

At  so  much  beauty,  flushing  every  hour 
Into  a  fuller  beauty  ;  but  my  friend, 
The  thoughtful  ancient,  standing  at  my  side, 
Gazed  on  it  mildly  sad.     I  asked  him  why. 


THE    OLD    MAN'S   COUNSEL.  189 

"Well   mayst    thou  join   in   gladness,"  he 

replied, 
''With  the  glad  earth,  her  springing  plants  and 

flowers, 

And  this  soft  wind,  the  herald  of  the  green 
Luxuriant  summer.    Thou  art  young  like  them, 
And  well  mayest  thou  rejoice.     But  while  the 

flight 

Of  seasons  fills  and  knits  thy  spreading  frame 
It  withers  mine,  and  thins  my  hair,  and  dims 
These  eyes,  whose  fading  light  shall  soon  be 

quenched 
In  utter  darkness.     Hearest  thou  that  bird  ?  " 


I  listened,  and  from  midst  the  depth  of  woods 
Heard  the  love-signal  of  the  grouse,  that  wears 
A  sable  ruff  around  his  mottled  neck  ; 
Partridge  they  call  him  by  our  northern  streams, 
And  pheasant  by  the  Delaware.     He  beat 


190  LATER  POEMS. 

His  barred  sides  with  his  speckled  wings,  and 

made 

A  sound  like  distant  thunder  ;  slow  the  strokes 
At  first,  then  fast  and  faster,  till  at  length 
They  passed  into  a  murmur  and  were  still. 


(c  There  hast  thou,"  said  my  friend,  "  a  fitting 

type 

Of  human  life.     'Tis  an  old  truth,  I  know, 
But  images  like  these  revive  the  power 
Of  long  familiar  truths.     Slow  pass  our  days 
In  childhood,  and  the  hours  of  light  are  long 
Betwixt  the  morn  and  eve  ;  with  swifter  lapse 
They  glide  in  manhood,  and  in  age  they  fly  ; 
Till  days  and  seasons  flit  before  the  mind 
As  flit  the  snow-flakes  in  a  winter  storm, 
Seen  rather  than  distinguished.     Ah  !  I  seem 
As  if  I  sat  within  a  helpless  bark, 
By  swiftly  running  waters  hurried  on 


191 


To  shoot  some  mighty  cliff.     Along  the  banks 
Grove  after  grove,  rock  after  frowning  rock, 
Bare  sands  and  pleasant  homes,  and  flowery 

nooks, 

And  isles  and  whirlpools  in  the  stream,  appear 
Each  after  each,  but  the  devoted  skiff 
Darts  by  so  swiftly  that  their  images 
Dwell  not  upon  the  mind,  or  only  dwell 
In  dim  confusion  ;  faster  yet  I  sweep 
By  other  banks,  and  the  great  gulf  is  near. 


"  Wisely,  my  son,  while  yet  thy  days  are  long, 
And  this  fair  change  of  seasons  passes  slow, 
Gather  and  treasure  up  the  good  they  yield — 
All  that  they  teach  of  virtue,  of  pure  thoughts 
And  kind  affections,  reverence  for  thy  God 
And  for  thy  brethren  ;  so  when  thou  shalt  come 
Into  these  barren  years,  thou  mayst  not  bring 
A  mind  unfurnished  and  a  withered  heart." 


192  LATER  POEMS. 

Long  since  that  white-haired  ancient  slept — 

but  still 
When  the  red  flower-buds  crowd  the  orchard 

bough, 

And  the  ruffed  grouse  is  drumming  far  within 
The  woods,  his  venerable  form  again 
Is  at  my  side,  his  voice  is  in  my  ear. 


MEMOKY  OF  WILLIAM  LEGGETT, 

THE  earth  may  ring,  from  shore  to  shore, 
With  echoes  of  a  glorious  name, 

But  he,  whose  loss  our  tears  deplore, 
Has  left  behind  him  more  than  fame. 


For  when  the  death-frost  came  to  lie 
On  Leggett's  warm  and  mighty  heart 

And  quench  his  bold  and  friendly  eye, 
His  spirit  did  not  all  depart. 


194  LATER  POEMS. 

The  words  of  fire  that  from  his  pen 
Were  flung  upon  the  fervid  page, 

Still  move,  still  shake  the  hearts  of  men, 
Amid  a  cold  and  coward  age. 


His  love  of  truth,  too  warm,  too  strong 
For  Hope  or  Fear  to  chain  or  chill, 

His  hate  of  tyranny  and  wrong, 
Burn  in  the  breasts  he  kindled  still. 


AN  EVENING  KEVERY. 

FROM    AN    UNFINISHED  POEM. 

THE  summer  day  is  closed — the  sun  is  set  : 
Well  they  have  done  their  office,  those  bright 

hours, 

The  latest  of  whose  train  goes  softly  out 
In  the  red  West.   The  green  blade  of  the  ground 
Has  risen,  and   herds   have    cropped  it  ;    the 

young  twig 

Has  spread  its  plaited  tissues  to  the  sun  ; 
Flowers  of  the  garden  and  the  waste  have  blown 


196  LATER    POEMS. 

And  withered  ;  seeds  have  fallen  upon  the  soil, 
From  bursting  cells,  and  in  their  graves  await 
Their  resurrection.     Insects  from  the  pools 
Have  filled  the  air  awhile  with  humming  wings, 
That  now  are  still  for  ever  ;  painted  moths 
Have  wandered  the  blue  sky,  and  died  again  ; 
The  mother-bird  hath  broken  for  her  brood 
Their  prison  shell,  or  shoved  them  from  the 

nest, 
Plumed  for   their   earliest   flight.      In   bright 

alcoves, 

In  woodland  cottages  with  barky  walls, 
In  noisome  cells  of  the  tumultuous  town, 
Mothers  have  clasped  with  joy  the    new-born 

babe. 

Graves  by  the  lonely  forest,  by  the  shore 
Of  rivers  and  of  ocean,  by  the  ways 
Of  the  thronged  city,  have  been  hollowed  out 
And  filled,  and  closed.     This  day  hath  parted 

friends 


AN    EVENING    REVERT.  197 

That  ne'er  before  were  parted  ;    it  hath  knit 
New  friendships  ;  it  hath  seen  the  maiden  plight 
Her  faith,  and  trust  her   peace  to  him  who 

long 
Had  wooed  ;  and  it  hath  heard,  from  lips  which 

late  - 

Were  eloquent  of  love,  the  first  harsh  word, 
That  told  the  wedded  one  her  peace  was  flown. 
Farewell  to  the  sweet   sunshine  !      One  glad 

day 

Is  added  now  to  Childhood's  merry  days, 
And  one  calm  day  to  those  of  quiet  Age. 
Still  the  fleet  hours  run  on  ;  and  as  I  lean, 
Amid  the  thickening  darkness,  lamps  are  lit, 
By  those  who  watch  the  dead,  and  those  who 

twine 
Flowers  for  the  bride.      The  mother  from  the 

eyes 

Of  her  sick  infant  shades  the  painful  light, 
And  sadly  listens  to  his  quick-drawn  breath. 


198 


LATER   POEMS. 


OL  thou  great  Movement  of  the  Universe, 
Or  Change,  or  Flight  of  Time — for  ye  are  one  ! 
That  bearest,  silently,  this  visible  scene 
Into  night's  shadow  and  the  streaming  rays 
Of  starlight,  whither  art  thou  bearing  me  ? 
I  feel  the  mighty  current  sweep  me  on, 
Yet  know  not  whither.     Man  foretells  afar 
The  courses  of  the  stars  ;  the  very  hour 
He  knows,when  they  shall  darken  or  grow  bright , 
Yet  doth  the  eclipse  of  Sorrow  and  of  Death 
Come  unforewarned.    Who  next,  of  those  I  love, 
Shall  pass  from  life,  or  sadder  yet,  shall  fall 
From  virtue  ?    Strife  with  foes,  or  bitterer  strife 
With  friends,  or  shame  and  general  scorn  of 

men — 
Which  who  can  bear? — or  the  fierce  rack  of 

pain, 

Lie  they  within  my  path  ?     Or  shall  the  years 
Push  me,  with  soft  and  inoffensive  pace, 
Into  the  stilly  twilight  of  my  age  ? 


AN    EVENING    REVERT.  199 

Or  do  the  portals  of  another  life 

Even  now,  while  I  am  glorying  in  my  strength, 

Impend  around  me  ?    Oh !  beyond  that  bourne, 

In  the  vast  cycle  of  being- which  begins 

At  that  dread  threshold,  with  what  fairer  forms 

Shall  the  great  law  of  change  and   progress 

clothe 
Its  workings  1      Gently — so    have    good    men 

taught — 

Gently,  and  without  grief,  the  old  shall  glide 
Into  the  new  ;  the  eternal  flow  of  things, 
Like  a  bright  river  of  the  fields  of  heaven, 
Shall  journey  onward  in  perpetual  peace. 


THE  PAINTED  CUP. 

THE  fresh  savannas  of  the  Sangamon 
Here  rise  in  gentle  swells,  and  the  long  grass 
Is  mixed  with  rustling  hazels.     Scarlet  tufts 
Are  glowing  in  the  green,  like  flakes  of  fire  ; 
The  wanderers  of  prairie  know  them  well,    , 
And  call  that  brilliant  flower  the  Painted  Cup 

Now,  if  thou  art  a  poet,  tell  me  not 
That  these  bright  chalices  were  tinted  thus 


THE   PAINTED    CUP.  201 

To  hold  the  dew  for  fairies,  when  they  meet 
On  moonlight  evenings  in  the  hazel  bowers, 
And  dance  till  they  are  thirsty.     Call  not  up, 
Amid  this  fresh  and  virgin  solitude, 
The  faded  fancies  of  an  elder  world  ; 
But  leave  these  scarlet  cups  to  spotted  moths 
Of  June,  and  glistening  flies,  and  humming 
birds, 
To  drink  from,  when   on  all  these  boundless 

lawns 

The  morning  sun  looks  hot.     Or  let  the  wind 
Overturn  in  sport  their  ruddy  brims,  and  pour 
A  sudden  shower  upon  the  strawberry  plant, 
To  swell  the  reddening  fruit  that  even  now 
Breathes    a  slight  fragrance  from   the  sunny 
slope. 

But  thou  art  of  a  gayer  fancy.     Well — 
Let  then  the  gentle  Manitou  of  flowers, 
Lingering  amid  the  bloomy  waste  he  loves, 


202  LATER  POEMS. 

Though  all  his  swarthy  worshippers  are  gone — 
Slender  and  small,  his  rounded  cheek  all  brown 
And  ruddy  with  the  sunshine  ;  let  him  come 
On  summer  mornings,  when  the  blossoms  wake, 
And  part  with  little  hands  the  spiky  grass  ; 
And  touching,  with  his  cherry  lips,  the  edge 
Of  these  bright  beakers,  drain  the  gathered  dew, 


A    DREAM. 

I  HAD  a  dream — a  strange,  wild  dream — 
Said  a  dear  voice  at  early  light  ; 

And  even  yet  its  shadows  seem 
To  linger  in  my  waking  sight. 

Earth,  green  with  spring,  and  fresh  with  dew, 
And  bright  with  morn,  before  me  stood  ; 

And  airs  just  wakened  softly  blew 
On  the  young  blossoms  of  the  wood. 


204  LATER   POEMS. 

Birds  sang  within  the  sprouting  shade, 
Bees  hummed  amid  the  whispering  grass 

And  children  prattled  as  they  played 
Beside  the  rivulet's  dimpling  grass. 

Fast  climbed  the  sun  ;    the  flowers  were  flown ; 

There  played  no  children  in  the  glen  : 
For  some  were  gone,  and  some  were  grown 

To  blooming  dames  and  bearded  men. 

'Twas  noon,  'twas  summer  ;  I  beheld 
Woods  darkening  in  the  flush  of  day, 

And  that  bright  rivulet  spread  and  swelled, 
A  mighty  stream,  with  creek  and  bay.. 

And  here  was  love,  and  there  was  strife, 
And  mirthful  shouts,  and  wrathful  cries, 

And  strong  men,  struggling  as  for  life, 
With  knotted  limbs  and  angry  eyes 


A    DREAM,  205 

Now  stooped  the  sun  ;  the  shades  grew  thin  ; 

The  rustling  paths  were  piled  with  leaves  ; 
And  sunburnt  groups  were  gathering  in, 

From  the  shorn  field,  its  fruits  and  sheaves. 

The  river  heaved  with  sullen  sounds  ; 

The  chilly  wind  was  sad  with  moans  ; 
Black  hearses  passed,  and  burial-grounds 

Grew  thick  with  monumental  stones. 

Still  waned  the  day  ;  the  wind  that  chased 
The  jagged  clouds  blew  chiller  yet  ; 

The  woods  were  stripped,  the  fields  were  waste  ; 
The  wintry  sun  was  near  its  set. 
\ 

And  of  the  young,  and  strong,  and  fair, 
A  lonely  remnant,  gray  and  weak, 

Lingered,  and  shivered  to  the  air 
Of  that  bleak  shore  and  water  bleak. 


206  LATER  POEMS. 

All !  age  is  drear,  and  death  is  cold  ! 

I  turned  to  thee,  for  thou  wert  near, 
And  saw  thee  withered,  bowed,  and  old, 

And  woke  all  faint  with  sudden  fear. 

'Twas  thus  I  heard  the  dreamer  say, 
And  bade  her  clear  her  clouded  brow  ; 

"  For  thou  and  I,  since  childhood's  day, 
Have  walked  in  such  a  dream  till  now, 

"  Watch  we  in  calmness,  as  they  rise, 
The  changes  of  that  rapid  dream, 

And  note  its  lessons,  till  our  eyes 
Shall  open  in  the  morning  beam." 


THE  ANTIQUITY  OF  FKEEDOM.  • 

HERE  are  old  trees,  tall  oaks  and   gnarled 

pines, 
That  stream  with  gray-green  mosses  ;  here  the 

ground 
Was  never  trenched  by  spade,  and  flowers  spring 

up 

Unsown,  and  die  ungathered.     It  is  sweet 
To  linger  here,  among  the  flitting  birds 
And  leaping  squirrels,  wandering  brooks,  and 

winds 
That  shake  the  leaves,  and  scatter  as  they  pass, 


208  LATER   POEMS. 

A  fragrance  from  the  cedars,  thickly  set 
With  pale   blue   berries.      In  these   peaceful 

shades — 

Peaceful,  unpruned,  immeasurably  old — 
My  thoughts  go  up  the  long  dim  path  of  years, 
Back  to  the  earliest  days  of  liberty. 

Oh  FREEDOM  !  thou  art  not,  as  poets  dream, 
A  fair  young  girl,  with  light  and  delicate  limbs, 
And  wavy  tresses  gushing  from  the  cap 
With  which  the    Koman  master  crowned  his 

slave 

When  he  took  off  the  gyves.  A  bearded  man, 
Armed  to  the  teeth,  art  thou ;  one  mailed  hand 
Grasps  the  broad  shield,  and  one  the  sword  ;  thy 

brow, 

Glorious  in  beauty  though  it  be,  is  scarred 
With  tokens  of  old  wars  ;  thy  massive  limbs 
Are  strong  with  struggling.     Power  at  thee  has 

launched 


THE    ANTIQUITY    OF    FREEDOM.  209 

His  bolts,  and  with  his  lightnings  smitten  thee  ; 
They  could  not  quench  the  life  thou  hast  from 

heaven. 

Merciless  power  has  dug  thy  dungeon  deep, 
And  his  swart  armorers,  by  a  thousand  fires, 
Have  forged  thy  chain;  yet,  while  he  deems  thee 

bound, 

The  links  are  shivered,  and  the  prison  walls 
Fall  outward  ;  terribly  thou  springest  forth, 
As  springs  the  flame  above  a  burning  pile, 
And  shoutest  to  the  nations,  who  return, 
Thy  shoutings,  while  the  pale  oppressor  flies. 


Thy  birthright   was   not   given   by  human 

hands : 
Thou-  wert  twin-born  with  man.     In  pleasant 

fields, 
While  yet  our  race  was  few,  thou  satt'st  with 

him, 

23 


210  LATER    POEMS. 

To  tend  the  quiet  flock  and  watch  the  stars, 
And  teach  the  reed  to  utter  simple  airs. 
Thou  by  his  side,  amid  the  tangled  wood, 
Didst  war  upon  the  panther  and  the  wolf, 
His  only  foes  ;  and  thou  with  him  didst  draw 
The  earliest  furrow  on  the  mountain  side, 
Soft  with  the  deluge.     Tyranny  himself, 
Thy  enemy,  although  of  reverend  look, 
Hoary  with  many  years,  and  far  obeyed, 
Is  later  born  than  thou  ;  and  as  he  meets 
The  grave  defiance  of  thine  elder  eye, 
The  usurper  trembles  in  his  fastnesses. 


Thou  shalt  wax  stronger  with  the  lapse  of 

years, 

But  he  shall  fade  into  a  feebler  age  ; 
Feebler,  yet  subtler.  He  shall  weave  his  snares, 
And  spring  them  on  thy  careless    steps,  and 
clap 


THE    ANTIQUITY    OF    FREEDOM.  211 

His  withered  hands,  and  from  their  ambush  call 
His  hordes  to  fall  upon  thee.     He  shall  send 
Quaint  maskers,  wearing  fair  and  gallant  forms 
To  catch  thy  gaze,  and  uttering  graceful  words 
To   charm   thy  ear ;   while   his   sly  imps,   by 

stealth, 
Twine  round  thee  threads  of  steel,  light  thread 

on  thread 

That  grow  to  fetters  ;  or  bind  down  thy  arms 
With  chains  concealed  in  chaplets.     Oh  !  not 

yet 

Mayst  thou  unbrace  thy  corslet,  nor  lay  by 
Thy  sword,    nor  yet,  0   Freedom  !  close  thy 

lids 

In  slumber  ;  for  thine  enemy  never  sleeps, 
And  thou  must  watch  and  combat  till  the  day 
Of  the  new  earth  and  heaven.     But  would st 

thou  rest 

Awhile  from  tumult  and  the  frauds  of  men, 
These  old  and  friendly  solitudes  invite 


212  LATER  POEMS. 

Thy  visit.     They,  while  yet  the  forest  trees 
Were  young  upon  the  unviolated  earth, 
And  yet  the  moss  stains  on  the  rock  were  new, 
Beheld  thy  glorious  childhood,  and  rejoiced. 


THE  MAIDEN'S  SORROW. 

SEVEN  long  years  has  the  desert  rain 
Dropped  on  the  clods  that  hide  thy  face ; 

Seven  long  years  of  sorrow  and  pain 
I  have  thought  of  thy  burial-place, 

Thought  of  thy  fate  in  the  distant  west, 
Dying  with  none  that  loved  thee  near; 

They  who  flung  the  earth  on  thy  breast 
Turned  from  the  spot  without  a  tear. 


214  LATER    POEMS. 

There,  I  think,  on  that  lonely  grave, 
Violets  spring  in  the  soft  May  shower, 

There,  in  the  summer  breezes,  wave 
Crimson  phlox  and  moccasin  flower. 

There  the  turtles  alight,  and  there 
Feeds  with  her  fawn  the  timid  doe  ; 

There,  when  the  winter  woods  are  bare, 
Walks  the  wolf  on  the  crackling  snow. 

Soon  wilt  thou  wipe  my  tears  away  ; 

All  my  task  upon  earth  is  done  ; 
My  poor  father,  old  and  gray, 

Slumbers  beneath  the  churchyard  stone 

In  the  dreams  of  my  lonely  bed, 

Ever  thy  form  before  me  seems  ; 

» 

All  night  long  I  talk  with  the  dead, 
All  day  long  I  think  of  my  dreams. 


THE  MAIDEN'S  SORROW.  215 

This  deep  wound  that  bleeds  and  aches, 

This  long  pain,  a  sleepless  pain- 
When  the  Father  my  spirit  takes, 
I  shall  feel  it  no  more  again. 


THE  KETUKN  OF  YOUTH. 

MY  friend,  thou  sorrowest  for  thy  golden  prime, 
For  thy  fair  youthful  years  too  swift  of  flight; 
Thou  musest,  with  wet  eyes,  upon  the  time 
Of  cheerful  hopes  that  filled  .the  world  with 

light- 
Years  when  thy  heart  was  bold,  thy  hand  was 

strong, 
And   quick   the   thought    that   moved    thy 

tongue  to  speak, 

And  willing  faith  was  thine,  and  scorn  of  wrong 
Summoned  the  sudden  crimson  to  thy  cheek. 


THE    RETURN   OF    YOUTH. 


Thou  lookest  forward  on  the  coining  days, 
Shuddering  to   feel   their  shadow  o'er  thee 

creep  ; 

A  path,  thick-set  with  changes  and  decays, 
Slopes  downward  to  the  place    of  common 

"sleep  ; 
And  they  who  walked  with  thee  in  life's  first 

stage, 
Leave   one   by  one    thy  side,    and,  waiting 

near, 

Thou  seest  the  sad  companions  of  thy  age  — 
Dull  love  of  rest,  and  weariness  and  fear. 


Yet   grieve  thou  not,  nor  think  thy  youth  is 

gone, 
Nor  deem  that   glorious   season   e'er   could 

die. 

Thy  pleasant  youth,  a  little  while  withdrawn, 
Waits  on  the  horizon  of  a  brighter  sky  ; 


218  LATER    POEMS. 

Waits,  like  the  morn;  that  folds  her  wing  and 

hides. 

Till  the   slow  stars  bring  back  her  dawning 
hour  ; 

Waits,  like  the  vanished  spring,  that  slumber 
ing  bides 

Her  own  sweet  time  to  waken  bud  and  flower. 

» 

There  shall  he  welcome  thee,  when  thou  shalt 

stand 
On  his  bright  morning  hills,  with  smiles  more 

sweet 

Than  when  at  first  he  took  thee  by  the  hand, 
Through  the  fair  earth  to  lead  thy  tender 

feet. 
He  shall  bring  back,  but  brighter,  broader  still, 

Life's  early  glory  to  thine  eyes  again, 
Shall  clothe  thy  spirit  with  new  strength,  and  fill 
Thy  leaping  heart  with  warmer   love  than 
then. 


THE  RETURN  OF  YOUTH.        219 

Hast  thou  not  glimpses,  in  the  twilight  here, 

Of  mountains  where  immortal  morn  prevails ? 
Comes  there  not,  through  the  silence,  to  thine 
ear 

A  gentle  rustling  of  the  morning  gales  ; 
A  murmur,  wafted  from  that  glorious  shore, 

Of  streams,  that  water  "banks  for  ever  fair, 
And  voices  of  the  loved  ones  gone  before, 

More  musical  in  that  celestial  air  'I 


A  HYMN  OF  THE  SEA. 

THE  sea  is  mighty,  but  a  mightier  sways 
His  restless  billows.     Thou,  whose  hands  have 

scooped 
His  boundless  gulfs  and  built  his  shore,  thy 

breath, 

That  moved  in  the  beginning  o'er  his  face, 
Moves  o'er  it  evermore.     The  obedient  waves 
To  its  strong  motion  roll,  and  rise  and  fall. 
Still  from  that  realm  of  rain  thy  cloud  goes  up, 
&s  at  the  first,  to  water  the  great  earth, 


A    HYMN    OF    THE    SEA.  221 

And  keep  her  valleys  green.     A  hundred  realms 
Watch  its  broad  shadow  warping  on  the  wind 
And  in  the  dropping  shower,  with  gladness  hear 
Thy  promise  of  the  harvest.     I  look  forth 
Over  the  boundless  blue,  where  joyously 
The  bright  crests  of  innumerable  waves 
Glance  to  the  sun  at  once,  as  when  the  hands 
Of  a  great  multitude  are  upward  flung 
In  acclamation.     I  behold  the  ships 
Gliding  from  cape  to  cape,  from  isle  to  isle, 
Or  stemming  toward  far  lands,    or  hastening 

home 

From  the  old  world.      It  is  thy  friendly  breeze 
That  bears  them,  with  the  riches  of  the  land, 
And  treasure  of  dear  lives,  till,  in  the  port, 
The  shouting  seaman  climbs  and  furls  the  sail. 


But  who  shall  bide  thy  tempest,  who  shall  face 
The  blast  that  wakes  the  fury  of  the  sea  7 


222  .         LATER    POEMS. 

Oil  Glod !  thy  justice  makes  the  world  turn  pale. 
When,  on  the  armed  fleet,  that  royally 
Bears  down  the  surges,  carrying  war,  to  smite 
Some  city,  or  invade  some  thoughtless  realm, 
Descends  the  fierce  tornado.     The  vast  hulks 
Are  whirled  like  chaff  upon  the  waves  ;  the  sails 
Fly,  rent  like  wehs  of  gossamer  ;  the  masts 
Are   snapped   asunder ;    downward    from   the 

decks, 

Downward  are  slung,  into  the  fathomless  gulf, 
Their  cruel  engines  ;  and  their  hosts,  arrayed 
In  trappings  of  the  "battle-field,  are  whelmed 
By  whirlpools,  or  dashed  dead  upon  the  rocks. 
Then   stand  the  nations    still  with  awe,   and 

V 

pause, 
A  moment,  from  the  bloody  work  of  war.. 


These  restless  surges  eat  away  the  shores 
Of  earth's  old  continents ;  the  fertile  plain 


A    HYNN    OF    THE    SEA.  223 

Welters  in  shallows,  headlands  crumble  down, 
And  the  tide  drifts  the  sea-sand  in  the  streets 
Of  the  drowned  city.     Thou,  meanwhile,  afar 
In  the  green  chambers  of  the  middle  sea, 
Where  broadest  spread  the  waters  and  the  line 
Sinks  deepest,  while  no  eye  beholds  thy  work, 
Creator  !  thou  dost  teach  the  coral  worm 
To  lay  his  mighty  reefs.     From  age  to  age, 
He  builds  beneath  the  waters,  till,  at  last, 
His  bulwarks  overtop  the  brine,  and  check 
The  long  wave  rolling  from  the  southern  pole 
To  break  upon  Japan.     Thou  bidd'st  the  fires, 
That  smoulder  under  ocean,  heave  on  high 
The    new-made    mountains,    and   uplift   their 

peaks, 

A  place  of  refuge  for  the  storm-driven  bird. 
The  birds  and  wafting  billows  plant  the  rifts 
With  herb  and  tree  ;    sweet  fountains  gush ; 

sweet  airs 
Ripple  the  living  lakes  that,  fringed  with  flowers, 


224  LATER   POEMS. 

Are  gathered  in  the  hollows.     Thou  dost  look 
On  thy  creation  and  pronounce  it  good. 
Its  valleys,  glorious  with  their  summer  green, 
Praise  thee  in  silent  beauty,  and  its  woods, 
Swept  by  the  murmuring  winds  of  ocean,  join 
The  murmuring  shores  in  a  perpetual  hymn. 


NOON. 

FROM   AN   UNFINISHED    POEM. 

;Tis  noon.     At  noon  the  Hebrew  bowed  the 

knee 

And  worshipped,  while  the  husbandman  with 
drew 

From  the  scorched  field,  and  the  wayfaring  man 
Grew  faint,  and  turned  aside  by  bubbling  fount, 
Or  rested  in  the  shadow  of  the  palm. 


226  LATER  POEMS. 

I,  too,  amid  the  overflow  of  day, 
Behold  the  power  which  wields  and  cherishes 
The  frame  of  Nature.     From  this  brow  of  rock 
That  overlooks  the  Hudson's  western  marge, 
I  gaze  upon  the  long  array  of  groves, 
The  piles  and  gulfs  of  verdure  drinking  in 
The  grateful  heats.     They  love  the  fiery  sun  ; 
Their  broadening  leaves  grow  glossier,  and  their 

sprays 

Climb  as  he  looks  upon  them.     In  the  midst, 
The  swelling  river,  into  his  green  gulfs, 
Unshadowed  save  by  passing  sails  above, 
Takes  the  redundant  glory,  and  enjoys 
The  summer  in  his  chilly  bed.     Coy  flowers, 
That  would  not  open  in  the  early  light, 
Push  back  their  plaited  sheaths.     The  rivulet's 

pool, 

That  darkly  quivered  all  the  morning  long 
In  the  cool  shade,  now  glimmers  in  the  sun  ; 
And  o'er  its  surface  shoots,  and  shoots  again, 


NOON.  227 

The  glittering  dragon-fly,  and  deep  within 
Run  the  brown  water-beetles  to  and  fro. 

A  silence,  the  brief  sabbath  of  an  hour, 
Reigns  o'er  the  fields  ;   the  laborer  sits  within 
His  dwelling  ;  he  has  left  his  steers  awhile, 
Unyoked,  to  bite  the  herbage,  and  his  dog 
Sleeps  stretched  beside  the  door-stone  in  the 

shade. 

Now  the  gray  marmot,  with  uplifted  paws, 
No  more  sits  listening  by  his  den,  but  steals 
Abroad,  in  safety,  to  the  clover-field, 
And  crops  its  juicy  blossoms.     All  the  while 
A  ceaseless  murmur  from  the  populous  town 
Swells  o'er  these  solitudes  :  a  mingled  sound 
Of  jarring  wheels,  and  iron  hoofs  that  clash 
Upon  the  stony  ways,  and  hammer-clang, 
And  creak  of  engines  lifting  ponderous  bulks, 
And  calls  and  cries,  and  tread  of  eager  feet, 
Innumerable,  hurrying  to  and  fro. 


228  LATER  POEMS. 

Noon,  in  that  mighty  mart  of  nations,  brings 
No  pause  to  toil  and  care.     With  early  day 
Began  the  tumult,  and  shall  only  cease 
When  midnight,  hushing  one  by  one  the  sounds 
Of  bustle,  gathers  the  tired  brood  to  rest. 

Thus,  in  this  feverish  time,  when  love  of  gain 
And  luxury  possess  the  hearts  of  men, 
Thus  is  it  with  the  noon  of  human  life. 
We,  in  our  fervid  manhood,  in  our  strength 
Of  reason,  we,  with  hurry,  noise,  and  care, 
Plan,  toil,  and  strive,  and  pause  not  to  refresh 
Our  spirits  with  the  calm  and  beautiful 
Of  God's  harmonious  universe,  that  won 
Our  youthful  wonder  ;  pause  not  to  inquire 
Why  we  are  here  ;  and  what  the  reverence 
Man  owes  to  man,  and  what  the  mystery 
That  links  us  to  the  greater  world,  beside 
Whose  borders  we  but  hover  for  a  space. 


THE  CROWDED  STREET. 

LET  me  move  slowly  through  the  street, 
Filled  with  an  ever-shifting  train, 

Amid  the  sound  of  steps  that  beat 

The  murmuring  walks  like  autumn  rain. 

How  fast  the  flitting  figures  come  ! 

The  mild,  the  fierce,  the  stony  face  ; 
Some  bright  with  thoughtless  smiles,  and  some 

Where  secret  tears  have  left  their  trace 


230  LATEK    POEMS. 

They  pass — to  toil,  to  strife,  to  rest  ; 

To  halls  in  which  the  feast  is  spread  ; 
To  chambers  where  the  funeral  guest 

In  silence -sits  beside  the  dead. 

And  some  to  happy  homes  repair, 

Where  children,  pressing  cheek  to  cheek, 

With  mute  caresses  shall  declare 
The  tenderness  they  cannot  speak. 

And  some,  who  walk  in  calmness  here, 
Shall  shudder  as  they  reach  the  door 

Where  one  who  made  their  dwelling  dear, 
Its  flower,  its  light,  is  seen  no  more. 

Youth,  with  pale  cheek  and  slender  frame, 
And  dreams  of  greatness  in  thine  eye  ! 

Go'st  thou  to  build  an  early  name, 
Or  early  in  the  task  to  die  ? 


THE    CROWDED    STREET.  231 

Keen  son  of  trade,  with  eager  brow  ! 

Who  is  now  fluttering  in  thy  snare  ? 
Thy  golden  fortunes,  tower  they  now, 

Or  melt  the  glittering  spires  in  air  ? 

Who  of  this  crowd  to-night  shall  tread 
The  dance  till  daylight  gleams  again  ? 

Who  sorrow  o'er  the  untimely  dead  ? 
Who  writhe  in  throes  of  mortal  pain  ? 

Some,  famine-struck,  shall  think  how  long 
The  cold  dark  hours,  how  slow  the  light  ! 

And  some,  who  flaunt  amid  the  throng, 
Shall  hide  in  dens  of  shame  to-night. 

Each,  where  his  tasks  or  pleasures  call, 
They  pass,  and  heed  each  other  not  ; 

There  is  who  heeds,  who  holds  them  all, 
In  his  large  love  and  boundless  thought. 


232  LATER   POEMS. 

These  struggling  tides  of  life  that  seem 
In  wayward,  aimless  course  to  tend, 

Are  eddies  of  the  mighty  stream 
That  rolls  to  its  appointed  end. 


THE  WHITE-FOOTED  DEER. 

IT  was  a  hundred  years  ago, 
When,  by  the  woodland  ways, 

The  traveller  saw  the  wild  deer  drink, 
Or  crop  the  birchen  sprays. 


Beneath  a  hill,  whose  rocky  side 

O'erbrowed  a  grassy  mead, 
And  fenced  a  cottage  from  the  wind, 

A  deer  was  wont  to  feed. 
24 


234  LATER    POEMS. 

She  only  came  when  on  the  cliffs 
The  evening  moonlight  lay, 

And  no  man  knew  the  secret  haunts 

\ 

In  which  she  walked  by  day. 

White  were  her  feet,  her  forehead  showed 

A  spot  of  silvery  white, 
That  seemed  to  glimmer  like  a  star 

In  autumn's  hazy  night. 

And  here,  when  sang  the  whippoorwill 
She  cropped  the  sprouting  leaves, 

And  here  her  rustling  steps  were  heard 
On  still  October  eves. 

But  when  the  broad  midsummer  moon 

Rose  o'er  that  grassy  lawn, 
Beside  the  silver-footed  deer 

There  grazed  a  spotted  fawn. 


THE    WHITE-FOOTED    DEER.  235 

The  cottage  dame  forbade  her  son 

To  aim  the  rifle  here  ; 
"  It  were  a  sin/'  she  said,  "  to  harm 

Or  fright  that  friendly  deer. 

"  This  spot  has  been  my  pleasant  home 

Ten  peaceful  years  and  more ; 
And  ever  when  the  moonlight  shines, 

She  feeds  before  our  door. 

'  The  red  men  say  that  here  she  walked 

A  thousand  moons  ago ; 
They  never  raise  the  war-whoop  here, 
And  never  twang  the  bow. 

"  I  love  to  watch  her  as  she  feeds, 

And  think  that  all  is  well, 
While  such  a  gentle  creature  haunts 

The  place  in  which  we  dwell." 


236  LATER   POEMS. 

The  youth  obeyed,  and  sought  for  game 

In  forests  far  away, 
Where,  deep  in  silence  and  in  moss, 

The  ancient  woodland  lay. 

But  once,  in  autumn's  golden  time, 
He  ranged  the  wild  in  vain, 

Nor  roused  the  pheasant  nor  the  deer, 
And  wandered  home  again. 

The  crescent  moon  and  crimson  eve 
Shone  with  a  mingling  light  ; 

The  deer,  upon  the  grassy  mead. 
Was  feeding  full  in  sight. 

He  raised  the  rifle  to  his  eye, 
And  from  the  cliffs  around 

A  sudden  echo,  shrill  and  sharp, 
Gave  back  its  deadly  sound. 


THE    WHITE-FOOTED    DEEE.  237 

Away  into  the  neighboring  wood 

The  startled  creature  flew, 
And  crimson  drops  at  morning  lay 

Amid  the  glimmering  dew. 

Next  evening  shone  the  waxing  moon 

As  sweetly  as  before  ; 
The  deer  upon  the  grassy  mead 

Was  seen  again  no  more. 

But, ere  that  crescent  moon  was  old, 

By  night  the  red  men  came, 
And  burnt  the  cottage  to  the  ground, 

And  slew  the  youth  and  dame. 

Now  woods  have  overgrown  the  mead 
And  hid  the  cliffs  from  sight ; 

There  shrieks  the  hovering  hawk  at  noon, 
And  prowls  the  fox  at  night. 


THE  WANING  MOON 

I'VE  watched  too  late  ;  the  morn  is  near ; 

One  look  at  God's  broad  silent  sky  ! 
Oh,  hopes  and  wishes  vainly  dear, 

How  in  your  very  strength  ye  die  ! 

Even  while  your  glow  is  on  the  cheek, 
And  scarce  the  high  pursuit  begun, 

The  heart  grows  faint,  the  hand  grows  weak, 
The  task  of  life  is  left  undone. 


THE  WANING   MOON:  239 

See  where, upon  the  horizon's  brim, 
Lies  the  still  cloud  in  gloomy  bars  ; 

The  waning  moon,  all  pale  and  dim, 
Goes  up  amid  the  eternal  stars. 

Late,  in  a  flood  of  tender  light, 
'She  floated  through  the  ethereal  blue, 

A  softer  sun,  that  shone  all  night 
Upon  the  gathering  beads  of  dew. 

And  still  thou  wanest,  pallid  moon  ! 

The  encroaching  shadow  grows  apace  ; 
Heaven's  everlasting  watchers  soon 

Shall  see  thee  blotted  from  thy  place. 

Oh,  Night's  dethroned  and  crownless  queen  ! 

Well  may  thy  sad,  expiring  ray 
Be  shed  on  those  whose  eyes  have  seen 

Hope's  glorious  visions  fade  away. 


240  ^ATER    POEMS. 

Shine  thou  for  eyes,  that  once  were  bright, 
For  sages  in  the  mind's  eclipse, 

For  those  whose  words  were  spells  of  might, 
But  falter  now  on  stammering  lips  ! 

In  thy  decaying  beam  there  lies 

Full  many  a  grave,  on  hill  and  plain, 

Of  those  who  closed  their  dying  eyes 
In  grief  that  they  had  lived  in  vain. 

Another  night,  and  thou  among 

The  spheres  of  heaven  shalt  cease  to  shine, 
All  rayless  in  the  glittering  throng 

Whose  lustre  late  was  quenched  in  thine. 

Yet  soon  a  new  and  tender  light 

From  out  thy  darkened  orb  shall  beam, 

And  broaden  till  it  shines  all  night 

On  glistening  dew  and  glimmering  stream. 


THE  STKEAM  OF  LIFE. 

0  H  silvery  streamlet  of  the  fields, 

That  flowest  full  and  free  ! 
For  thee  the  rains  of  spring  return, 

The  summer, dews  for  thee  ; 
And  when  thy  latest  blossoms  die 

In  autumn's  chilly  showers, 
The  winter  fountains  gush  for  thee, 

Till  May  brings  back  the  flowers. 


242  LATER    POEMS. 

Oh  Stream  of  Life  !  the  violet  springs, 

But  once,beside  thy  bed  ; 
But  one  brief  summer,  on  thy  path, 

The  dews  of  heaven  are  shed. 
Thy  parent  fountains  shrink  away, 

And  close  their  crystal  veins, 
And  where  thy  glittering  current  flowed 

The  dust  alone  remains. 


THE  UNKNOWN  WAY. 

A  BURNING  sky  is  o'er  me, 

The  sands  beneath  me  glow, 
As  onward,  onward,  wearily, 

In  the  sultry  noon  I  go. 
.« 

From  the  dusty  path  there  opens, 
Eastward,  an  unknown  way  ; 

Above  its  windings,  pleasantly, 
The  woodland  branches  play. 


R 

244  LATER    POEMS. 


A  silvery  brook  comes  stealing 

From  the  shadow  of  its  trees, 
Where  slender  herbs  of  the  forest  stoop 

Before  the  entering  breeze. 

Along  those  pleasant  windings 

I  would  my  journey  lay, 
Where  the  shade  is  cool  and  the  dew  of  night 

Is  not  yet  dried  away. 

Path  of  the  flowery  woodland  ! 

Oh  whither  dost  thou  lead, 
Wandering  by  grassy  orchard  grounds 

Or  by  the  open  mead? 

Goest  thou  by  nestling  cottage? 

Goest  thou  by  stately  hall, 
Where  the  broad  elm  droops,  a  leafy  dome, 

And  woodbines  flaunt  on  the  wall  ? 


THE    UNKNOWN    WAY.  245 

By  steeps  where  children  gather 

Flowers  of  the  yet  fresh  year  ? 
By  lonely  walks  where  lovers  stray 

Till  the  lender  stars  appear  ? 

Or  haply  dost  thou  linger 

On  barren  plains  and  bare, 
Or  clamber  the  bald  mountain-side, 

Into  the  thinner  air  1 

Where  they  who  journey  upward 

Walk  in  a  weary  track, 
And  oft  upon  the  shady  vale 

With  longing  eyes  look  back? 

I  hear  a  solemn  murmur, 

And,  listening  to  the  sound, 
I  know  the  voice  of  the  mighty  sea, 

Beating  his  pebbly  bound. 


246  .  LATER    POEMS. 


Dost  thou,  oh  path,  of  the  woodland  ! 

End  where  those  waters  roar, 
Like  human  life,  on  a  trackless  beach, 

With  a  boundless  Sea  before  1 


"OH  MOTHER  OF  A  MIGHTY  RACE." 

OH  mother  of  a  mighty  race, 
Yet  lovely  in  thy  youthful  grace  ! 
The  elder  dames,  thy  haughty  peers, 
Admire  and  hate  thy  blooming  years. 

With  words  of  shame 
And  taunts  of  scorn  they  join  thy  name. 


For  on  thy  cheeks  the  glow  is  spread 
That  tints  thy  morning  hills  with  red  ; 


248  LATER   POEMS. 

They  step — the  wild  deer's  rustling  feet, 
Within  thy  woods,  are  not  more  fleet  ; 

Thy  hopeful  eye 
Ts  bright  as  thine  own  sunny  sky. 


Aye.  let  them  rail — those  haughty  ones, 
While  safe  thou  dwellest  with  thy  sons. 
They  do  not  know  how  loved  thou  art, 
How  many  a  fond  and  fearless  heart 

Would  rise  to  throw 
Its  life  between  thee  and  the  foe. 


They  know  not,  in  their  hate  and  pride, 
What  virtues  with  thy  children  bide  ; 
How  true,  how  good,  thy  graceful  maids 
Make  bright,  like  flowers,  the  valley  shades  ; 

What  generous  men 
Spring,  like  thine  oaks,  by  hill  and  glen. 


UOH  MOTHER  OF  A  MIGHTY  RACE."    249 

What  cordial  welcomes  greet  the  guest 
By  thy  lone  rivers  of  the  west, 
How  faith  is  kept,  and  truth  revered, 
And  man  is  loved,  and  God  is  feared, 

In  woodland  homes, 
And  where  the  ocean-border  foams. 

There's  freedom  at  thy  gates,  and  rest 
For  Earth's  down-trodden  and  opprest, 
A  shelter  for  the  hunted  head, 
For  the  starved  laborer  toil  and  bread. 

Power,  at  thy  bounds, 
Stops  and  calls  back  his  baffled  hounds. 

Oh,  fair  young  mother  !  on  thy  brow 
Shall  sit  a  nobler  grace  than  now, 
Deep  in  the  brightness  of  thy  sides 
The  thronging  years  in  glory  rise, 

And,  as  they  fleet, 
Drop  strength  and  riches  at  thy  feet. 


250  LATER   POEMS. 

Thine  eye,  with  every  coming  hour, 

Shall  brighten,  and  thy  form  shall  tower  : 

And  when  thy  sisters,  elder  born, 

Would  brand  thy  name  with  words  of  scorn, 

Before  thine  eye. 
Upon  their  lips  the  taunt  shall  die. 


THE  LAND  OF  DREAMS. 

A  MIGHTY  realm  is  the  Land  of  Dreams, 
With,  steeps  that  hang  in  the  twilight  sky, 

And  weltering  oceans  and  trailing  streams, 
That  gleam  where  the  dusky  valleys  lie. 

But  over  its  shadowy  border  flow 

Sweet  rays  from  the  world  of  endless  morn, 
And  the  nearer  mountains  catch  the  glow, 

And  flowers  in  the  nearer  fields  are  born. 


252  LATER    POEMS. 

» 

The  souls  of  the  happy  dead  repair, 

From  their  bowers  of  light,  to  that  bordering 

land, 
And  walk  in  the  fainter  glory  there, ' 

With  the  souls  of  the  living  hand  in  hand. 


One  calm  sweet  smile,  in  that  shadowy  sphere. 

From  eyes  that  open  on  earth  no  more — 
One  warning  word  from  a  voice  once  dear — 

How  they  rise  in  the  memory  o'er  and  o'er  ! 


Far  off  from  those  hills  that  shine  with  day, 
And  fields  that  bloom  in  the  heavenly  gales, 

The  Land  of  Dreams  goes  stretching  away 
To  dimmer  mountains  and  darker  vales. 


There  lie  the  chambers  of  guilty  delight ; 
There  walk  the  spectres  of  guilty  fear  ; 


THE   LAND    OF    DREAMS.  253 

And  soft  low  voices,  that  float   through   the 

night, 
Are  whispering  sin  in  the  helpless  ear. 


Dear  maid,  in  thy  girlhood's  opening  flower, 
Scarce  weaned  from  the  love  of  childish  play  ! 

The  tears  on  whose  cheeks  are  hut  the  shower 
That  freshens  the  early  blooms  of  May  ! 


Thine  eyes  are  closed,  and  over  thy  brow 
Pass  thoughtful  shadows  and  joyous  gleams. 

And  I  know,  by  thy  moving  lips,  that  now 
Thy  spirit  strays  in  the  Land  of  Dreams. 

Light-hearted  maiden,  oh,  heed  thy  feet  ! 

0  keep  where  that  beam  of  Paradise  falls, 
And  only  wander  where  thou  may's t  meet 

The  blessed  ones  from  its  shining  walls. 


254  LATER   POEMS. 

So  shalt  thou  come  from  the  Land  of  Dreams, 
With  love  and  peace  to  this  world  of  strife  ; 

And  the  light  that  over  that  border  streams 
Shall  lie  on  the  path  of  thy  daily  life. 


THE  BURIAL  OF  LOVE. 

Two  dark-eyed  maids,  at  shut  of  day, 
Sat  where  a  river  rolled  away, 
With  calm  sad  brows  and  raven  hair, 
And  one  was  pale  and  both  were  fair. 

Bring  flowers,  they  sang,  bring  flowers  unblown ; 
Bring  forest  blooms  of  name  unknown  ; 
Bring  budding  sprays  from  wood  and  wild, 
To  strew  the  bier  of  Love,  the  child. 


256  LATER   POEMS. 

Close  softly,  fondly,  while  ye  weep, 
His  eyes,  that  death  may  seem  like  sleep, 
And  fold  his  hands  in  sign  of  rest, 
His  waxen  hands,  across  his  breast. 

And  make  his  grave  where  violets  hide, 
Where  star-flowers  strew  the  rivulet's  side, 
And  blue-birds,  in  the  misty  spring, 
Of  cloudless  skies  and  summer  sing. 

Place  near  him,  as  ye  lay  him  low, 
His  idle  shafts,  his  loosened  bow, 
The  silken  fillet  that  around 
His  waggish  eyes  in  sport  he  wound. 

But  we  shall  mourn  him  long,  and  miss 

His  ready  smile,  his  ready  kiss, 

The  patter  of  his  little  feet, 

Sweet  frowns  and  stammered  phrases  sweet  ; 


THE    BURIAL    OF    LOVE.  257 

And  graver  looks,  serene  and  high, 
A  light  of  heaven  in  that  young  eye, 
All  these  shall  haunt  us  till  the  heart 
Shall  ache  and  ache — and  tears  will  start. 

The  bow,  the  band  shall  fall  to  dust, 
The  shining  arrows  waste  with  rust, 
And  all  of  Love  that  earth  can  claim, 
Be  but  a  memory  and  a  name. 

Not  thus  his  nobler  part  shall  dwell, 
A  prisoner  in  this  narrow  cell  ; 
But  he  whom  now  we  hide  from  men 
In  the  dark  ground,  shall  live  again. 

Shall  break  these  clods,  a  form  of  light, 
With  nobler  mien  and  purer  sight, 
And  in  the  eternal  glory  stand, 

Highest  and  nearest  God's  right  hand. 
25 


"THE   MAY-SUN    SHEDS   AN  AMBEB 
LIGHT." 

THE  May-sun  sheds  an  amber  light 

On  new-leaved  woods  and  lawns  between  ; 
But  she  who,  with  a  smile  more  bright, 

Welcomed  and  watched  the  springing  green, 
Is  in  her  grave, 
Low  in  her  grave 

The  fair  white  blossoms  of  the  wood 
In  groups  beside  the  pathway  stand  ; 


"THE  MAY-SUN  SHEDS  AN  AMBER  LIGHT."    259 


But  one,  the  gentle  and  the  good, 

Who  cropped  them  with  a  fairer  hand, 
Is  in  her  grave, 
Low  in  her  grave. 

Upon  the  woodland's  morning  airs 

The  small  birds'  mingled  notes  are  flung  ; 
But  she,  whose  voice,  more  sweet  than  theirs. 
Once  bade  me  listen,  while  they  sung, 
Is  in  her  grave, 
Low  in  her  grave. 

That  music  of  the  early  year 

Brings  tears  of  anguish  to  my  eyes  ; 
My  heart  aches  when  the  flowers  appear  ; 
For  then  I  think  of  her  who  lies 

Within  her  grave, 
Low  in  her  grave. 


THE  VOICE  OF  AUTUMN. 

THERE  comes,  from  yonder  height, 

A  soft  repining  sound, 
Where  forest  leaves  are  bright 
And  fall,  like  flakes  of  light, 

To  the  ground. 

It  is  the  autumn  breeze, 
That,  lightly  floating  on, 


THE    VOICE    OF    AUTUMN.  261 

Just  skims  the  weedy  leas, 
Just  stirs  the  glowing  trees, 

And  is  gone. 


He  moans  by  sedgy  brook, 
And  visits,  with  a  sigh, 
The  last  pale  flowers  that  look, 
From  out  their  sunny  nook, 

At  the  sky. 


O'er  shouting  children  flies 
That  light  October  wind, 
And,  kissing  cheeks  and  eyes, 
He  leaves  their  merry  cries 

Far  behind. 


And  wanders  on  to  make 
That  soft  uneasy  sound 


262  LATER   POEMS. 

By  distant  wood  and  lake, 
Where  distant  fountains  break 

From  the  ground. 


No  bower  where  maidens  dwell 

Can  win  a  moment's  stay, 
Nor  fair  untrodden  dell ; 
He  sweeps  the  upland  swell, 

And  away. 


Mourn'st  thou  thy  homeless  state  1 

Oh  soft,  repining  wind  ! 
That  early  seek'st  and  late 
The  rest  it  is  thy  fate 

Not  to  find. 


Not  on  the  mountain's  breast, 
Not  on  the  ocean's  shore, 


THE    VOICE    OF    AUTUMN.  263 

In  all  the  East  and  West  :— 
The  wind  that  stops  to  rest 

Is  no  more. 


By  valleys,  woods,  and  springs, 

No  wonder  thou  shouldst  grieve 
For  all  the  glorious  things 
Thou  touchest  with  thy  wings 

And  must  leave. 


THE  CONQUEKOK'S  GKAVE. 

WITHIN  this  lowly  grave  a  Conqueror  lies, 
And  yet  the  monument  proclaims  it  not. 
Nor  round  the  sleeper's  name  hath  chisel  wrought 

The  emblems  of  a  fame  that  never  dies, 
Ivy  and  amaranth  in  a  graceful  sheaf, 
Twined  with  the  laurel's  fair,  imperial  leaf. 
A  simple  name  alone, 
To  the  great  world  unknown, 
Is  graven  here,  and  wild  flowers,  rising  round, 
Meek  meadow-sweet  and  violets  of  the  ground, 
Lean  lovingly  against  the  humble  stone. 


THE  CONQUEROR'S  GRAVE.  265 

Here,  in  the  quiet  earth,  they  laid  apart 

No  man  of  iron  mould  and  bloody  hands, 
Who  sought  to  wreak  upon  the  cowering  lands 

The  passions  that  consumed  his  restless  heart; 
But  one  of  tender  spirit  and  delicate  frame, 
Gentlest  in  mien  and  mind, 
Of  gentle  womankind, 

Timidly  shrinking  from  the  breath  of  blame  ; 
One  in  whose  eyes  the  smile  of  kindness  made 

Its  haunt,  like  flowers  by  sunny  brooks  in  May, 
Yet,  at  the  thought  of  others7  pain,  a  shade 

Of  sweeter  sadness  chased  the  smile  away. 

Nor  deem  that, when  the  hand  that  moulders 

here 
Was  raised  in  menace,  realms  were  chilled  with 

fear, 

And  armies  mustered  at  the  sign,  as  when 
Clouds  rise  on  clouds  before  the  rainy  East, — 
Gray  captains  leading  bands  of  veteran  men 


26G  LATER    POEMS. 

And  fiery  youths  to  be  the  vulture's  feast. 
Not  thus  were  waged  the  mighty  wars  that  gave 
The  victory  to  her  who  fills  this  grave  ; 

Alone  her  task  was  wrought, 

Alone  the  battle  fought ; 
Through  that  long  strife  her  constant  hope  was 

staid 
On  God  alone,  nor  looked  for  other  aid. 


She  met  the  hosts  of  sorrow  with  a  look 
-  That  altered  not  beneath  the  frown  they  wore, 
And  soon  the  lowering  brood  were  tamed,  and 

took, 

Meekly,  her  gentle  rule,  and  frowned  no  more. 
Her  soft  hand  put  aside  the  assaults  of  wrath, 

And  calmly  broke  in  twain 

The  fiery  shafts  of  pain, 
And  rent  the  nets  of  passion  from  her  path. 
By  that  victorious  hand  despair  was  slain. 


THE  CONQUEROR'S  GRAVE.  267 

With   Icrve    she   vanquished    hate    and    over 
came 
Evil  with  good,  in  her  Great  Master's  name. 


Her  glory  is  not  of  this  shadowy  state, 

Glory  that  with  the  fleeting  season  dies  ; 
But  when  she  entered  at  the  sapphire  gate 

What  joy  was  radiant  in  celestial  eyes  ! 
How  heaven's  hright  depths  with  sounding  wel 
comes  rung, 
And  flowers  of  heaven  by  shining  hands  were 

flung  ! 

And  He  who,  long  before, 
Pain,  scorn,  and  sorrow  bore, 
The  Mighty  Sufferer,  with  aspect  sweet, 
Smiled  on  the  timid  stranger  from  his  seat ; 
He  who  returning,  glorious,  from  the  grave, 
Dragged  Death,  disarmed,  in  chains,  a  crouch 
ing  slave. 


268  LATER   POEMS. 

See,  as  I  linger  here,  the  sun  grows  low  ; 
Cool  airs  are  murmuring  that  the  night  is 

near. 
Oh  gentle  sleeper,  from  thy  grave  I  go 

Consoled  though  sad,  in  hope  and  yet  in  fear. 
Brief  is  the  time,  I  know, 
The  warfare  scarce  begun  ; 
Yet  all  may  win  the  triumphs  thou  hast  won. 
Still  flows  the  fount  whose  waters  strengthened 

thee ; 

The  victors'  names  are  yet  too  few  to  fill 
Heaven's  mighty  roll ;  the  glorious  armory, 
That  ministered  to  thee,  is  open  still. 


NOTES, 


NOTES    TO    VOL.    II. 


Page  24. 
The  surface  rolls  and  fluctuates  to  the  eye. 

THE  prairies  of  the  "West,  with  an  undulating  surface, 
rolling  prairies,  as  they  are  called,  present  to  the  unac 
customed  eye  a  singular  spectacle  when  the  shadows  of 
the  clouds  are  passing  rapidly  over  them.  The  face  of  the 
ground  seems  to  fluctuate  and  toss  like  billows  of  the  sea. 

Page  24. 

The  prairie-hawk  that,  poised  on  high, 
Flaps  his  broad  wings,  yet  moves  not. 

I  have  seen  the  prairie-hawk  balancing  himself  in  the 
air  for  hours  together,  apparently  over  the  same  spot ; 
probably  watching  his  prey. 


272  NOTES. 


Page  26. 

These  ample  fields 
Nourished  their  harvests. 

The  size  and  extent  of  the  mounds  in  the  valley  of 
the  Mississippi,  indicate  the  existence,  at  a  remote  period, 
of  a  nation  at  once  populous  and  laborious,  and  therefore 
probably  subsisting  by  agriculture. 


Page  28. 

The  rude  conquerors 
Seated  the  captive  with  their  chiefs. 

Instances  are  not  wanting  of  generosity  like  this 
among  the  North  American  Indians  towards  a  captive  or 
survivor  of  a  hostile  tribe  on  which  the  greatest  cruelties 
had  been  exercised. 


Page  81. 


The  exploits  of  General  Francis  Marion,  the  famous 
partisan  warrior  of  South  Carolina,  form  an  interesting 


NOTES.  273 

chapter  in  the  annals  of  the  American  revolution.  The 
troops  were  so  harassed  by  the  irregular  and  successful 
warfare  which  he  kept  up  at  the  head  of  a  few  daring 
followers,  that  they  sent  an  officer  to  remonstrate  with 
him  for  not  coming  into  the  open  field  and  fighting  "  like 
a  gentleman  and  a  Christian/* 


Page  47. 

MAEY   MAGDALEN. 

Several  learned  divines  with  much  appearance  of 
reason,  in  particular  Dr.  Lardner,  have  maintained  that 
the  common  notion  respecting  the  dissolute  life  of  Mary 
Magdalen  is  erroneous,  and  that  she  was  always  a  person 
of  excellent  character.  Charles  Taylor,  the  editor  of 
Calmet's  Dictionary  of  the  Bible,  takes  the  same  view  of 
the  subject. 

The  verses  of  the  Spanish  poet  here  translated  refei 
to  the  "  woman  who  had  been  a  sinner,"  mentioned  in 
the  seventh  chapter  of  St.  Luke's  Gospel,  and  who  is 
commonly  confounded  with  Mary  Magdalen. 


274  NOTES. 

Page  52. 

FATIMA   AND   EADTJAN. 

This  and  the  following  poems  belong  to  that  class  01 
ancient  Spanish  ballads,  by  unknown  authors,  called  Ro 
mances  Moriscos — Moriscan  romances  or  ballads.  They 
were  composed  in  the  14th  century,  some  of  them,  pro 
bably,  by  the  Moors,  who  then  lived  intermingled  with 
the  Christians ;  and  they  relate  the  loves  and  achieve 
ments  of  the  knights  of  Grenada. 

Page  57. 

LOVE   AND   FOLLY. — (FEOM   LA   FONTAINE.) 

This  is  rather  an  imitation  than  a  translation  of  the 
poem  of  the  graceful  French  fabulist. 

Page  65. 

These  eyes  shall  not  recall  thee,  &c. 

This  is  the  very  expression  of  the  original — No  te 
llamardn  mis  ojos,  &c.  The  Spanish  poets  early  adopted 


NOTES.  275 

tlie  practice  of  calling  a  lady  by  the  name  of  the  most 
expressive  feature  of  her  countenance,  her  eyes.  The 
lover  styled  his  mistress  "  ojos  bellos,"  beautiful  eyes ; 
"ojos  serenos,"  serene  eyes.  Green  eyes  seem  to  have 
been  anciently  thought  a  great  beauty  in  Spain,  and  there 
is  a  very  pretty  ballad  by  an  absent  lover,  in  which  he 
addressed  his  lady  by  the  title  of  "green  eyes;"  suppli 
cating  that  he  may  remain  in  her  remembrance. 
I  Ay  ojuelos  verdes ! 

Ay  los  mis  ojuelos ! 

Ay,  hagan  los  cielos 
Que  de  mi  te  acuerdes ! 


Page  69. 
Say,  Love — -for  tliou  didst  see  Tier  tears,  &c. 

The  stanza  beginning  with  this  line  stands  thus  in  the 
original : — 

Dilo  tu,  amor,  si  lo  viste  ; 

;  Mas  ay  1  que  de  lastimado 
Diste  otro  nudo  a  la  venda, 

Para  no  ver  lo  que  ha  pasado. 
1  am  sorry  to  find  so  poor  a  conceit  deforming  so 


276  NOTES. 

spirited  a  composition  as  this  old  ballad,  but  I  have  pre 
served  it  in  the  version.  It  is  one  of  those  extravagances 
which  afterward  became  so  common  in  Spanish  poetry, 
when  Gongora  introduced  the  estilo  culto,  as  it  was 
called. 

Page  71. 

LOVE  IS  THE  AGE  OF  CHI  VALET. 

This  personification  of  the  passion  of  Love,  by  Peyre 
Vidal,  has  been  referred  to  as  a  proof  of  how  little  the 
Provencal  poets  were  indebted  to  the  authors  of  Greece 
and  Rome  for  the  imagery  of  their  poems. 

Page  73. 

THE   LOVE   OF   GOD. — (PBOM   THE   PEOVEN^AL   OF  BERNAED 
EASOA8.) 

The  original  of  these  lines  is  thus  given  by  John  o 
Nostradamus,  in  his  lives  of  the  Troubadours,  in  a  bar 
barous  Frenchified  orthography  : — 
Touta  kausa  mortals  una  fes  perira", 
Fors  que  1'amour  de  Dieu,  que  tousiours  durara. 


NOTES.  277 

Tous  nostres  cors  vendran  essuchs,  come  fa  1'eska, 

Lous  Aubres  leyssaran  lour  verdour  tendra  e  fresca, 

Lous  Ausselets  del  bosc  perdran  lour  kant  subtyeu, 

E  non  s'auzira  plus  lou  Rossignol  gentyeu. 

Lous  Buols  al  Pastourgage,  e  las  blankas  fedettas 

Sent'ran  lous  agulhons  de  las  mortals  Sagettas, 

Lous  crestas  d' Aries  fiers,  Renards,  e  Loups  espars, 

Kabrols,  Cervys,  Ohamous,  Senglars  de  toutes  pars, 

Lous  Ours  hardys  e  forts,  seran  poudra,  e  Arena, 

Lou  Daulphin  en  la  Mar,  lou  Ton,  e  la  Balena, 

Monstres  impetuous,  Ryaumes,  e  Corntas, 

Lous  Princes,  e  lous  Keys,  seran  per  mort  domtas. 

E  nota  ben  eysso  kuscun :  la  Terra  granda, 

(Ou  1'Escritura  ment)  lou  fermament  quo  branda, 

Prendra  autra  figura.     Enfin  tout  perira, 

Fors  que  1' Amour  de  Dieu,  que  touiours  durara. 


Page  76. 

PROM   THE   SPANISH   OF   PEDRO   DE    CASTRO   Y    AtfAYA. 

Las  Auroras  de  Diana,  in  which  the  original  of  these 
lines  is  contained,  is,  notwithstanding  it  was  praised  by 


278  NOTES. 

Lope  de  Vega,  one  of  the  worst  of  the  old  Spanish  Ro 
mances,  being  a  tissue  of  riddles  and  affectations,  with 
now  and  then  a  little  poem  of  considerable  beauty. 


Page  110. 

EARTH. 

The  author  began  this  poem  in  rhyme.  The  follow 
ing  is  the  first  draught  of  it  as  far  as  he  proceeded,  in"  a 
stanza  which  he  found  it  convenient  to  abandon. 

A  midnight  black  with  clouds  is  on  the  sky  ; 

A  shadow  like  the  first  original  night 
Folds  in,  and  seems  to  press  me  as  I  lie ; 

No  image  meets  the  vainly  wandering  sight, 
And  shot  through  rolling  mists  no  starlight  gleam 
Glances  on  glassy  pool  or  rippling  stream. 

No  ruddy  blaze,  from  dwellings  bright  within, 
Tinges  the  flowering  summits  of  the  grass ; 

No  sound  of  life  is  heard,  no  village  din, 
Wings  rustling  overhead  or  steps  that  pass, 


NOTES.  279 

While,  on  the  breast  of  earth  at  random  thrown, 
I  listen  to  her  mighty  voice  alone. 

A  voice  of  many  tones ;  deep  murmurs  sent 
From  waters  that  in  darkness  glide  away} 

From  woods  unseen  by  sweeping  breezes  bent, 

From  rocky  chasms  where  darkness  dwells  all  day, 

And  hollows  of  the  invisible  hills  around, 

Blent  in  one  ceaseless,  melancholy  sound. 

Oh  Earth  !  dost  thou,  too,  sorrow  for  the  past  ? 

Mourn'st  thou  thy  childhood's  unreturning  hours, 
Thy  springs,  that  briefly  bloomed  and  faded  fast, 

The  gentle  generations  of  thy  flowers, 
Thy  forests  of  the  elder  time,  decayed 
And  gone  with  all  the  tribes  that  loved  their  shade  ? 

Mourn'st  thou  that  first  fair  time  so  early  lost, 
The  golden  age  that  lives  in  poets'  strains, 

Ere  hail  or  lightning,  whirlwind,  flood  or  frost 

Scathed  thy  green  breast,  or  earthquakes  whelmed 
thy  plains  ? 


280  NOTES. 

Ere  blood  upon  the  snuadenng  ground  was  ?pilt, 
Or  night  was  haunted  by  disease  and  guilt  ? 

Or  haply  dost  thou  grieve  for  those  who  die? 

For  living  things  that  trod  awhile  thy  face, 
The  love  of  thee  and  heaven,  and  now  they  lie 

Mixed  with  the  shapeless  dust  the  wild  winds  chase  \ 
I,  too,  must  grieve,  for  never  on  thy  sphere 
Shall  those  bright  forms  and  faces  reappear. 

Ha !  with  a  deeper  and  more  thrilling  tone, 
Rises  that  voice  around  me,  'tis  the  cry 

Of  Earth  for  guilt  and  wrong,  the  eternal  moan 
Sent  to  the  listening  and  long-suffering  sky. 

I  hear  and  tremble,  and  mv  heart  grows  faint, 

As  midst  the  night  goes  up  that  great  complaint. 

Page  145. 

Where  Isar^s  clay-white  rivulets  run 
Through  the  dark  woods,  like  frighted  deer. 

Close   to  the   city  01   Munich,  in  Bavaria,  lies   the 
spacious  and  beautiful  pleasure-ground,  called  the  English 


NOTES.  281 

Garden,  in  which  these  lines  were  written,  originally  pro 
jected  and  laid  out  by  our  countryman,  Count  Kumford, 
under  the  auspices  of  one  of  the  sovereigns  of  the  coun 
try.  Winding  walks,  of  great  extent,  pass  through  close 
thickets  and  groves  interspersed  with  lawns ;  and  streams, 
diverted  from  the1  river  Isar,  traverse  the  grounds 
swiftly  in  various  directions,  the  \vater  of  which,  stained 
with  the  clay  of  the  soil  it  has  corroded  in  its  descent 
from  the  upper  country,  is  frequently  of  a  turbid  white 
color. 

Page  154. 

THE   GREEN   MOUNTAIN  BOYS. 

This  song  refers  to  the  expedition  of  the  Vermonters, 
commanded  by  Ethan  Allen,  by  whom  the  British  fort  of 
Ticonderoga,  on  Lake  Champlain,  was  surprised  and  taken, 
in  May,  1775. 

Page  158, 
THE  CHILD'S  FUNEBAL. 

The  incident  on  which  this  poem  is  founded  was  re 
lated  to  the  author  while  in  Europe,  in  a  letter  from  an 
26 


282  NOTES. 

English  lady.  A  child  died  in  the  south  of  Italy,  and 
when  they  went  to  bury  it  they  found  it  revived  and 
playing  with  the  flowers  which,  after  the  manner  of 
that  country,  had  been  brought  to  grace  its  funeral. 

Page  169. 

*  Tis  said,  when  Schiller's  death  drew  nigh, 
The  wish  possessed  his  mighty  mind 

To  wander  forth  wherever  lie 

The  homes  and  haunts  of  human  "kind. 

Shortly  before  the  death  of  Schiller,  he  was  seized 
with  a  strong  desire  to  travel  in  foreign  countries,  as  if 
his  spirit  had  a  presentiment  of  its  approaching  enlarge 
ment,  and  already  longed  to  expatiate  in  a  wider  and 
more  varied  sphere  of  existence. 

Page  1T3. 

The  flower 

Of  Sanguinaria,  from  whose  brittle  stem 
The  red  drops  fell  like  Hood. 

The  Sanguinaria  Canadensis,  or  blood-root,  as  it  is 


NOTES.  283 

commonly  called,  bears  a  delicate  white  flower  of  a 
musky  scent,  the  stem  of  which  breaks  easily,  and  distils 
a  juice  of  a  bright  red  color. 

Page  188. 

The  shad-lush,  white  with  flowers, 
Brightened  the  glens. 

The  small  tree,  named  by  the  botanists  Aronia  Boty- 
rapium,  is  called,  in  some  parts  of  our  country,  the  shad- 
bush,  from  the  circumstance  that  it  flowers  about  the 
time  that  the  shad  ascend  the  rivers  in  early  spring.  Its 
delicate  sprays,  covered  with  white  blossoms  before  the 
trees  are  yet  in  leaf,  have  a  singularly  beautiful  appear 
ance  in  the  woods. 

Page  190. 

"  There  hast  ihou"  said  my  friend,  "a  fitting  type 
Of  human  life." 

I  remember  hearing  an  aged  man,  in  the  country, 
compare  the  slow  movement  of  time  in  early  life  and  its 


284  NOTES.     • 

swift  flight  as  it  approaches  old  age,  to  the  drumming  of 
a  partridge  or  ruffed  grouse  in  the  woods — the  strokes 
falling  slow  and  distinct  at  first,  and  following  each 
other  more  and  more  rapidly,  till  they  end  at  last  in  a 
whirring  sound. 

Page  195. 

AN    EVENING  E  EVERY. FEOM   AN   UNFINISHED   POEM. 

This  poem  and  that  entitled  the  Fountain,  with  one 
or  two  others  in  hlank  verse,  were  intended  by  the  author 
as  portions  of  a  larger  poem,  in  which  they  may  hereafter 
take  their  place. 

Page  200 

The  fresh  savannas  of  the  Sangamon 
Here  rise  in  gentle  swells,  and  the  long  grass 
Is  mixed  with  rustling  hazels.    Scarlet  tufts 
Are  glowing  in  the  green,  like  flakes  of  fire. 

The  Painted  Oup,  Euchroma  Coccinea,  or  Bartsia 
Voccinea,  grows  in  great  abundance  in  the  hazel  prairies 


NOTES.  285 

ot  the  western  states,  where  its  scarlet  tufts  make  a 
brilliant  appearance  in  the  midst  of  the  verdure.  The 
Sangamon  is  a  beautiful  river,  tributary  to  the  Illinois, 
bordered  with  rich  prairies. 

Page  223. 

The  long  wave  rolling  from  the  southern  pole 
To  break  upon  Japan. 

"Breaks  the  long  wave  that  at  the  pole  began."- 
TENNENT'S  ANSTEE  FAIE. 

Page  225. 

At  noon  the  Hebrew  bowed  the  Tcnee 
And  worshipped 

"  Evening  and  morning,  and  at  noon,  will  I  pray  and 
cry  aloud,  and  he  shall  hear  my  voice." -PsALM  Iv.  17 

Page  233. 

THE   WHITE-FOOTED   DEEE. 

"During  the  stay  of  Long's  Expedition  at  Engineer 
Cantonment,  three  specimens  of  a  variety  of  the  coin- 


286 


NOTES. 


mon  deer  were  brought  in,  having  all  the  feet  white  near 
the  hoofs,  and  extending  to  those  on  the  hind  feet  from 
a  little  above  the  spurious  hoofs.  This  white  extremity 
was  divided,  upon  the  sides  of  the  foot,  by  the  general 
color  of  the  leg,  which  extends  down  near  to  the  hoofs, 
leaving  a  white  triangle  in  front,  of  which  the  point  was 
elevated  rather  higher  than  the  spurious  hoofs."-Goi> 
MAN'S  NATURAL  HISTORY,  vol.  ii.  p.  314. 


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